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ATTRACTIONS 



LANGÜAGE, 

OR A POPULAR VIEW OF 

NATURAL LANGÜAGE, IN ALL ITS VARIED DIS- 

PLAYS, IN THE ANÍMATE AND THE 

INANIMATE WORLD; 

AND AS CORRESPONDING "WITH 

Instinctj ÍHíelligeiice and Reason; 

A PHYSIOLOGICAL DESCRIPTION OF THE ORGANS OF VOICE; AN 

ACCOUNT OF THE ORIGIN OF ARTIFICIAL, SPOKEN 

LANGÜAGE; AND A BRIEF ANALYSIS OF 

ALPHABETICAL SOUNDS. 

BY BENJ. F. TAYLOR, A. M. 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION 

BY ASAHEL C. KENDRICK, A. M. 

PROFESSOR OF THE GREEK LANGÜAGE AND LITERATURE ÍN THE 
HAMILTON LIT. AND THEO. INSTITUTION. 



[ILLUSTRATED.] t yh 



HAMILTON, N. Y.:— J. & D. ATWOOD : 

UTICA: BENNETT, BACKUS & HAWLEY. 

1842. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1842, 
by J. & D. Atwood, in the Clerk's Office of the District 
Court of the Northern District of the State of New York. 

$ 



P K E F A C E. 



To manifest indiflferenee, vvhére we apprehend censure — 
to ask for sympathy, where we cannot hope for praise — to 
pronounce the sentence "mene tekel," upon every similar 
efíbrt — to perpétrate the most daring deeds of literary 
piracy, and then, pirate-like, attempt to scuttle the good ship 
that we have rifled, are too much "tricks of the trade," either 
to obtain credence or disarm criticism. 

The oíd Sculptor, who placed the Parían statue in the 
forum, that every passer-by might mark thereon, what seem- 
ed faulty to him, met a fate, which has many parallels in 
this "age of print." 

A Grecian disfigured the nose because it was Román, and 
a Román battered the lip because it was Grecian. A crippled 
soldier deprived It of an arm, a gladiator demolished an eye, 
and a boor mutilated the bust; and when the artist went forth 
to profit by the comments of his teachers, he saw the beauti- 
ful creationthat liad heaved, as with life, beneaíh his chisel, 
and become human — intellectual — noble, beneath the tracings 
of his graver, dashed from its pedestal, a heap of misshapen 
fragments. As he sadly gathered them up, he learned that 
while demolition is the pastime of the many, the design and 
the execution are the unremunerated labors of the few. 

í do not claim a martyr's niche, as some do, for I wrote all 
for love — the love of the subject; and if my reader feels half 
the pleasure in the perusal, that I experienced in the produc- 
tion of it, he will have as little claim to such a distinction as 
I have. 

Indeed, sodeeply ara I interested in the subject, that I con- 
témplate its continuation in a subsequent volume. If this 



please you, well; and if not, you will be prepared for such a 
calamity; as being forewarned, you are also forearmed. The 
critic, who is so Quixotic as to imagine that this book is 
"vvorthy of bis steel," might have gained an enviable repu- 
tation at the battle of tbe Windmills, but he can gain no lau- 
rels here. Capture a multitude of errors, he may; detect a 
host of blemishes, he doubtless will; but still, killed, wounded 
and prisoners all told, survivors enough will remain, to attest 
the frailty of the mortal who penned them. But let him 
point out the excellencies and discover the beauties, and if he 
succeed in this, my word for it, he will evince a clear dis- 
cernment, and what is more, an acute penetration for which 
the world will not be sjow to do him honor. 

ít is alrnost unnecessary to say, that I have availed myself 
of books in the composition of this Work; that many oí" the 
facts contained in these pages may be found interspersed 
throughout the voluminous writings of Drs. Good, Griscom, 
Dunglison, Riish and Bell; and if the discerning reader 
discover anything here, of which he can trace no ancient and 

honorable lineage, why 1 suppose he must cali it mine. 

Especially would I acknowledge my indebtedness to Profes- 
sor Píendrick, for the kind words of counsel and encourage- 
ment which he has often spoken; for the couñtenance which 
he has given to my little labors, and to which some of these 
pages bear ampie testimony. 

In this connection, I may be allowed to mention the ñame 
of Ruftjs Tiffany, of Michigan; the grateful recollection 
of whose faithful friendship and efficient aid in the gloomy 
hour of illness and disappointment, no distance can absolve, 
no time oblitérate, till Memory's tablets shall be broken, and 
Gratitude's fountain dried up. 

Somebody has said, that a preface is ío the readei', what the 
desert was to the Israelites. I cannot help thinking how un- 
happy the pilgrim's lot, when, after a dreary sojourn in the 
prefatory wilderness, no promised land appears to bless his 
eyes, and while I think, I lay down my pen and stop. 

Hamilton, June 8, 1842. B. F. T. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

INTRODUCTION, 7 

PART FIRST. 
Language of Inanimate ~N ature. 

CHAPTER I. VVhat the Critic sajs to ihe author; H!s early 
difficulties; his opinión oí" English Grammar; his "position de- 
fined;" remarkable coincidence in views; Author 's plan. 13 

CHAPTER II. Taik vvith the reader; what language is; Con- 
versaron between a mother and her son; what the ivy told 
Charles; language of ¡he violet; the lily; the camomile; the 
flax; the willow; the ¡mow-drop; the aspen. 19 

CHAFTER III. A little floral dictionary; language of the nettle; 
the bramble; l.he olive; the poppy; what gricf will do; the ama- 
ranlh; the mistletoe-, what the author ventured to do for the sake 
of the dialogue; why 'the flowers never told the reader athought; 
a pieceof advice which he will follow, if he please. 25. 

CHAPTER IV. What we have done; chat with the reader; an- 
ecdote; learning and knowing are tivo things; language of the 
night; distant lands; morning on the Alps; what is nobler than 
monnlain scenery. 33 

CHAPTER V. The stars of Heaven and Earth; their language; 
the stárs' lesson of humiüty and hope; the morning star; its 
language; the Polar Star; Comets; the extinguislied star; its 
language; our neighbor in the Universe; the fall of Niágara; 
the sublime teachings of the stars. 38 

CHAPTER VI. Language of the seasons; the voice of Spring; 
of Summer; of Autumn; of Winter; dafinition of language as 
already considered; review; proposition to the reader. 47 

CHAPTER VII. God talks with man through nature; the con- 

venient "it;' 1 the eye; the two worlds; what an ideáis; what 

thought is; man a social being; language the link; the brute 

creation. 56 

PART SECÓN D. 

Inslinct, Intelligence and Reason. 

CHAPTER I. What we owe to Nature; brutes have language; 
brutes have ideas; what they would be without language; the 
scale of being; instinct in the vegetable world; instinct and 
intelligence in the animal kingdom; illustrations. 63 

CHAPTER, II. The duck; complex nature of sucking, swallowing 
and respiration; definition of instinct; not sentient; not intel- 
ligent; examples; the office of intelligence; its relation to 
instinct; few animáis destroy life wantonly; the skill ofbirdsin 
nidification; coló* of the eggs;individual and generic instinct. 73 



6 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER III. Architcctural skill of bbds: weavers,masons and 
basket makers: Hindostán svvallow: tailorbird's nest: Baltimoro 
Starling: martin: hint to the hypercritical: the Exeíer 'Chango 
elophanl: the Turkish wa«p: Bushy Park: the cankie race: rea-< 
soning of a dog: Ulysses' dog: the squirrel turued sailor. 73 

CHAPTER IV. The church-going dog: the philosophical fox: 
the momory of horses: poetical extracl: the elephanl: his in- 
telligencfi: his gratilude: the migration of birds: Bryant's Unes 87 

CHAPTER V. The modelsociety of the hive-bee: the wasp: the 
ant: the ant-Uon: the land crab: general inferences: conclusión 95 

CHAPTER VI. DifFerence between intelligence and reason: the 
young human beiní; ils helplessness; its iinprovement; the in- 
terna! vvorld; rapidity of thought; what is worthy of the ñame 
of Self; the relation which intelligence and reason sustain to 
language; classification. 106 

CHAPTER VIL Tabular view: Antennal language: language of 
gesticulation; anecdote of Curran. 112 

CHAPTER VIII. Thedeafand durrib; their manual alphabet; 
Mr. Gallaudet; the countenance; passion-dialing; connection 
of mind with body; descriptioa of the dial; the sixth sense; 
the facial muscles; their ñames. 123 

CHAPTER IX. The brain, the capitol of the mind: its messen- 
gers: the nerves: experiment: nerve of expression; illustration: 
explanation.ofphen-om.ena: anecdote of Garrick: conclusión; 132 

CHAPTER X. Esternal appnratus of insects: the gnat: the 
cicada: the house cricket: the rattlesnake; the death-watch: 
natural language of cries: voice: the larynx. 143 

CHAPTER XI. Vocal apparatus of birds; the mocking bird; 
ventriloquism: the voice as indicative of feeling or emotion ; 
various illuslrations: laughing: whispering: sighing. 155 

PART T H I R D, 
Language of Reason. 

CHAPTER I. Man a mystery: how an artificial language is 
formed: exclamations: man a social being: imitative language; 
sounds; Scriptural account of the confusión of tongues: illus- 
trations: the original language: the western Indians: tribuiaries 
to the English language: its present vast extent, 173 

CHAPTER, II. Connection between natural and artificial lan- 
guage: elements of artificial language; Glottis or vowel sounds: 
the brain the organ of language: O'Kelly's parrot: vocal tubes: 
marshaling the Alphabet. 182 

CHAPTER III. Organs of the mouth; división into pairs; ex- 
periments: H: the vowels: consonanta or articulations: vocal 
and whispering letters: Welsh peculiarity. tables of sounds: 
conclusión. 189 



ÍNTRODUCTION. 



Though reluctant to step between an Author and his 
readers, í yet cannot lefuse to comply with the request of my 
young friend and forrner pupil, that I should accompany his 
debut before the public, with a few introductory remarks. 
Having read a portion of the following work in manuscript, 
and examined its sheets since they have issued from the press, 
it is my convicíion that it spreads before the reader a most 
iníerestiñg page in the book of kriowlé'dge, and that, though 
immediately designed for youth, there are very few who may 
not reap from its perusal, both pleasure and instruction. 

The Author treats of language. His design is, to exhibit 
the various methods by which ideas are imparted to the mind, 
both from inanimate and animated nature. He thus discus- 
ses the whole subject of natural and artificial language, 
ascending through every gradation, from the simple dialect 
of the vegetable kingelom, to the complicated mechanism, and 
manifold utterances of human speech. The field which he 
explores, is one equally extended and attractive, and in di- 
recting into it the steps of youth, and leading the way, he 
has rendered to them an invaluable service. 

To follow the Author through the various topics discussed, 



« INTRODUCTION. 

would be a work of supererogation. I will here only allude 
ío his interesting speculations on Instinct, Intelligence and 
Reason. Whether the distinctions which the Author has 
drawn on these abstruse and difficult subjects. are entirely 
satisfactory, I will not undertake to decide. Some may re- 
gard him as having solved the problem, while others will 
hesitate to give a decided assent to his theory. Be that as it 
may, all will regard it ashighly ingenious, and wortby of ex- 
amination. We know not, indeed, that the darkness which 
invests these mysterious points, will everbe wholly dissipated; 
yet we greet gladlv every ray of light that may be shed' 
upon them. We welcome every well . authenticated fact, 
even though we hesitate to yield an unqualified assent to the 
theory it is adduced to support. To him who fails to be 
convinced, yet the facts accumulated by the Author on these 
points will lose none of their intrinsic interest. 

A delightful feature of the present work is the wide extent 
to which it draws illustrationsfrom Natural History. Should 
it thus have the effect of awakening in the minds of youth, 
a deeper love of nat'ure — a stronger relish for the puré plea- 
sures which she waits to layish on her votaries — a desire to 
drink deep of the delicious health-giving draught which 
sparkles in her ever-flowing cup, a most important object 
would be accomplished, and the toil of the Author, I doubt 
not, abundantly rewarded. Surrounded, as we are, by the 
endlessly diversified scenery of nature— -her thousand forms 
of beauty ailuring the eye— her thousand melodies ravishing 
the ear — her treasure house of unexhausted wonders lying 
open to our entrance — how little do we appreciate the extent 
and richness of her stores ! In what inexcusable ignorance are 
we contení to remain, suffering our eyes to roam heedless and 



INTRODUCTION. « 

unadmiring over scenes, rich in every element of beauty and 
grandeur, and proffering to our enjoyment, "a perpetual feast 
of nectared sweets !" Let a youth be imbued with that love of 
nature, which will urge him to penétrate her secrets, and sur- 
vey her wonders, and how healthful and invigorating its 
influence on his whole mental and moral character ! The 
fashionable novel, with its seductive pictures, that at once 
vitiate the taste, enfeeble the intellect, and corrupt the heart, 
is thrown aside; the scenes of riotous dissipation are aban- 
doned; and amid the ever-varied beauties of nature — amid 
her flower spangled meadows and mountain solitudes, he 
drinks health, and wisdom, and virtue. Who can resist the 
magic of natural scenery? 

"Who can forbear to smile with Nature ? Can 

The stormy passions in the bosora roll 

When every gale is peace, and every grove 

Is melody ?" 

The Volume of Nature, like that of Revelation, is written 
with the finger of Jehovah, and teaches, in every page, the 
lessons of his wisdom and goodness. Let, then, the parent, 
who would multiply to his child the sources of innocent en- 
joyment, and preserve him from the seductive influences of 
vice, instil into his bosom a love for natural scenery and na- 
tural science. And to such, may I not particularly com- 
mend the following work? It attempts, indeed, no scientific 
exposition of any branch of Natural History — unless we 
may speak of the natural history of Language. But its nu- 
merous illustrations, drawn from the vegetable and animal 
world, cannot fail to engage the attention, and stimulate the 
curiosity of youth, more than would a work more formally 
scientific. It every where opens glimpses^ of that región of 



10 INTRODUCTION. 

enchantment — that fairy land, to whose real and living won- 
ders the creations of romance yield as far, in all the elements 
of interest, as does the mud-walled cottage of the peasant to 
the banditti-haunted castle among the Appenines. 'Truth is 
stranger than fiction.' The inventions of man cannot rival 
in interest the creations of God. Upon the youth, then, I 
would urge the careful perusal of this work. Let them read 
it till the warm love of Nature, which it every where breathes, 
is transfused into their own breasts, and kindles in them an 
irrepressible desire to penétrate deeply into the mysteries of 
Jehovah's works. 

I have dvvelt so long on this topic, that I have little space 
to devote to that which is the main object of the work, viz. 
Langtjáge. But surely no remarks can be needed from my 
pen, to awaken an interest in this subject. What a mystery 
is the expression of thought ! What a wonderful creation of 
the mind is Language ! Subtle itself almost to immateriali- 
ty, yet embodying and rendering palpable those subtler es- 
sences, thought, truth, and emotion ! The médium by which 
mind communes with mind, and the electric flash of feeling 
is transmitted round the entire circle of intelligent and ra- 
tional existence ! To change the figure; now flowing on, a 
puré crystal streaiu, whose transparent depths reflect the 
cloudless heaven of truth; now breaking into a torrent of 
impetuous and impassioned eloquence, and now swelling and 
undulating into song ! Such ís Language — the mirror of the 
soul — -catching iís most delicate hues, its most fleeting emo- 
tions — preserving them in their original vitality and fresh- 
ness, and transmitting them from age to age, making each 
successive generation the inheritor of the collected wisdom 
of the past ! 



INTRODUCTION. 11 

Such is the subject which invites the attention of the read- 
er of the following work, and were not every field of knowl- 
edge wonderful, we might claim for this a surpassing inter- 
est. Into the nature of written language the Author has not 
entered. But the mechanism of speech — the construction of 
that curious and complicated instrument, which he has ex- ' 
pressively and happily termed the 'voice-machine' — the dif- 
ferent origin and nature of the vocal elements, he has ex- 
hibited in a manner most clear and satisfactory. Those to 
whom this subject is new, will find in it matter of curious 
inquiry. They will find human speech made up of sound or 
voice, variously modified, issuing from the throat, (forming 
the vowels,) and, in its passage through the mouth, wrought 
upon, and joiníed or articulaled by the tongue, teeth, lips, &c, 
so as to produce the various consonant sounds. This power 
of articulating the voice, is a distinguishing characteristic of 
human speech, and led the observing ancients to desígnate 
man as the 'voice-dividing' animal. 

But, commending this whole curious subject to the reader, 
under the able guidance of the Author, it only remains that 
I express my earnest desire, that the work may find, especial- 
ly with the youthful community, a favorable reception. For 
them it is especially designed, and to all intelligent youíh it 
cannot fail of proving highly instructive. The Author has 
evidently brought to his work a hearty love for his subject, 
and a due sense of ,the richness of the field which he ex- 
plores. His researches have evidently been patient and tho- 
rough, and he has looked on nature with a quick and loving 
eye, which has enabled him to detect, as it were, her inmost 
soul. He Avrites in a free and joyous spirit, gives spontane- 
ous utterance to puré and elevated sentiments, and displays, 



12 INTRODUCTION. 

every where, a vigorous and fertile mind. Should any oí 
the more grave among his readers deem his spirit too light 
and frolicksome, they will easily make allowance for the ex- 
uberance of youthful imagination, and the warm, unrestrain- 
ed flow of youthful feeling. To "frolic while 'tis May," 
may surely be innocently allowed to the fancy, which 
all too soon will be inevitably sobered by the stern realities 
of life, seen in the clear, uncolored light of reason and ex- 
perience. 

A. C. KENDRICK. 



ATTRACTIONS OF LANGUAGÉ. 



PART FI RST. 



CHAPTER I 



What the Critic says to the author — His early difficuUies — 

His opinión of English Gr arrimar — His "position defaied " — 

Remarkable coincidence in views — Author 's plan. 

"Attractions of Langtjage ? English Grammar newly 

vamped, I suppose. A sort of gilded pill as bitter as ever; 

a liberal spoonful of medicine and sugar; the latter disap- 

pearing like an April snow — the former, like ^Eneas' voice, 

"faucibus hassít," sticking to one's jaws for more leisürely 

rumination. 

Now, if this áttractive title only betokens a renewal of the 
dose, I declare to you of the book, that I protest against such 
cruel empiricism. 

As for the "Attractions" that stare at me so sáucily from 
your title page, let me inquire whether those wínged moon- 
ites, or, as Webster has it, lunarians, which were pleased to 
render themselves visible to him of the telescope, (happy 
man !) made any disclosures on the subject, which ha ve beea 
"misanthropically suppressed until now ? 



14 ATTRACTIONS OF 

They must indeed be a late discovery; for my own part, I 
never spied any worthy of note. Stop; in fact, I have a con- 
fused recollection of a sort of capillary attraction, in whose 
efficacy my teacher manifested great confidence, especially 
in cases of listlessness and kindred ' maladies that afflict 
Murray's young disciples. 

I studied English Grammar as other children, and by (lint 
of certain forcible argumenís, (siriking is a more expressive 
wprd,) attained a mastery truly marvellous. I could ring 
all the changes upon the verb "to love" with astonishing ac- 
curacy and velocity; only intímate to me the first person sin- 
gular of any tense, and I was off to the third person plural, 
with a speed that all the whips and spurs of New-Market 
could not have possibly accelerated; and then, simply tarried 
a moment for the signal, to display equal powers on any oth- 
er portion of specified time. 

I do not recollect that I ever acquired a momentum which 
carried me into another división without the "starting" word* 
No, like a well-bred racer, the height of my ambition was 
to reach the goal, and it was a tense a heaf. 

This is not all; í eould rattle off the rules, numbers, notes, 
exceptions and all, with a velocity which would bid defiance 
to a very professor of stenograpby, and put a yankee pedlar 
or city auctioneer to the blush; and which not unfrequently 
fairly disíanced my own thoughts. 

So skiiled was I, that my tongue would perform the varr- 
ous evolutions in the production of the verb "to be," without 
any vólition on my part; and then what wondrous feats of le- 
gerdemain, we performed on the writings of Pope and Milton; 
now substituting a v/ord here — now expunging one there, till 
óur mystified intellects could compare a sentence in blank 
verse, ^appropriate adjective !) to nothing less than Pandora's- 
veritable box, coníaining 



1ANGTTAGE. 15 

"Ail the ills that flesh ís heir to," 
but which our instructor, (may he rest in peace !) facetiously 
termed "beauties." 

I have sometimos laughed outright, when thinking with 
what a comico-serio visage, the blind bard or the prince oí 
English rhyme would view a band of little urchins industri- 
ously employed in distorting, mutilating, murdering, any 
thing but eating his immortal lines, if like Samuel of oíd, 
he could revisit earth. 

For example, in parsing (mysterious process,) that couplet 
of Pope's, 

£ 'In spite of pridcí, in erring- reason's spile, 
One truth is clear; whatever is, is right." 
Only supply the single word "right" after the second verb, 
and "such a change !" What a flood of light bursts at once 
upon the passage, irradíatíng the countenance of the operator 
with a glory second only to its own. 

How profound, how sublime the thought; how compre- 
hensive the expression. What a system of ethics is contained 
in that little line. Shade of Séneca ! It was not for thee. 
Just think of it; whatever is right, is right! I know not to 
whom belongs the honor of this and numberless discoveries of 
a similar character, but how easily could we pardon him, if 
with all the enthusiasm of the oíd philosopher, forgetting the 
fashionable habiliments of these degenerate days, he had 
rushed from his couch hito the street, with the extatic excla- 
mation bursting from his lips, "eureka ! eureka !" "I have found 
ít out ! I have found it out !" 

All this I accomplished, with an interest as deep and abi- 
ding, as if it had been ín the unknown tongue, and when I 
íhink of the practica] advantage,I a*m reminded of the remark 
af a shrewd playmate, when taken to task for a gross trans- 



IS ATTKACTIONS 07 

gression of 'Murray's Statutes,' of which he had been a 
hopeful student for the last half year; ' it cost too much to be- 
used every day. ? 

I recollect once, after having mastered the words, further 
deponent saith not, in the definition of a Preposition, of pon- 
dering what sort of "relation" those little important members 
of sentences exhibited. I will not trouble you vvith the men-. 
tal process, however logical, but the end of the whole matter 
was, that my deliberations involved me in a doubt, whether it 
was a blood relation or a relation by marriage, though I rath- 
er inelined to the latter opinión." 

A truce, critic, a trupe ! 

"A word more 'to define my position,' which I fear sa- 
vors too much of the assailant's and I will relieve your patience. 

It was not until years after, that "a light shone suddenly 
round about me," and revealed the mystery; these lights con- 
tinued to break out from time to time, until English Grammar 
assumed a new, and I am. constrained to say,, interesting as- 
pect. 

It is from, a vivid recollection of the time that was thus was- 
ted in repeating words without regard to sense, when th© 
number of pages committed, was of far greater importance 
than the uumber of ideas acquired, that I have perhaps be- 
trayed myself into a confession of unparalleled obtuseness du-. 
ring my juvenile years, and at the same time have done you- 
injustice; while I would only express my honest indignatioa 
against those men, who for the sake of embalming a bantling 
idea of their own, wrap its skeleton-frame in the productions 
of other men's brains, resol ving themselves into. mere copy- 
i.sts, the strongest evidence of which is exhibited in the hered- 
itary blunders that are thus entailed upen a reading youth, to 
the third, yea the fourth generation. 



LANGUAGE. 17 

When looking back upon the days spent in the study of En- 
glish Grammar, it appears to me that had I known how many 
avenues of pleasure its subjecí, language, opened up to me; 
had I known how much of the happiness in which my young 
spirit exulted, the companionship of friends and books, yea of 
the wide earth around, and the canopied heavens above; how 
language is as essential to thought, as it is to the expression of 
it; of thought, the biríhright of mind -wherever found, in the 
mines of Perú or the forests of Honduras; had I known how 
much all this was the direct gift of Language, the result of my 
study would have been widely different. Had I known what 
my teachers took for granted, that I ¿Lid know, that the huge 
limbless trunk they bade me contémplate and admire, was 
only iheframe of a living tree, clothed upon with its own pe- 
culiar beauty, and flinging its leaf-clad branches abroad, thus 
stripped of its glory for more minute inspection, I should 
have been cheered and encouraged, and even arnid the bustle 
of a busy care-tinged life, should have turned from time to 
time,to contémplate Language, that wondrous limnerof thought 
and feeling, as a recreation and delight. 

Then again, what an instrument of music are the organs of 
voice ? What can surpass or even equal it ? 

Its keys are as numerous as the emotions of the human 
heart; now tremulous with sorrow; now elevated with joy; 
now softened with affliction; now deepened with passion. And 
yet, how little did I know of it; I, who could finger the flute and 
flourish the bow with nacontemptible skill; I, who knew the 
construction and tone of almost every common instrument; 
whom martial music could elévate and nerve, and almost 
transform into a warrior; I, who have almost wept at the strains 
of my own mellow flute, knew nothing of the construction and 
power of an instrument incomparably superior to all these, an 



18 ATTRACTIOMS OF 

instrument which I inherited at birth, and which I could only 
lose in the last soft breathings of death ! 

Perhaps I have been too suspicious of the title, and that you 
have not written a Grammar, for I confess I have not even 
glanced at its contents. You may in fact have been gather- 
ing the branches and foliage of the subject, as I termed them, 
to ínterest and instruct the young Grammarian; to accompa- 
ny and cheer him in his otherwise irksome task, and perhaps 
in the hands of him who has already passed the weary way, 
and who reverts with feelings far from pleasurable, to the 
labyrinths he threaded and the gloomy passes he trod, (for it 
is not then too late,) it may fling a rayof light back upon the 
dark valíeys, lightihg them up with a beauty which light only 
can impart, and awakening in his mind a new desire, to as- 
sume a branch of study, which once, more than all else, en- 
hanced the happiness of his 'last day at school." 

Give-rne your hand, critic ! You are a person mei generis, 
that is, after my own heart, in your views of this subject, and 
have expressed (not to court a compliment,) my thoughts quite 
as well as I could myselí. 

To tell you the truth, it was my intention to write a few pa- 
ges upon this very subject, but as the sentiments which you 
have expressed are so strictly in accordance with long cher- 
ished views of my own, it would give me peculiar pleasure to 
substitute them. 

"I certainly have no objection, if my poor thoughts can in 
any way subserve the interests of education." 



LANGUAGE. 19 



CHAPTER II. 



Talk witli the reader — What Language is — Conversation be- 

tween a motlier and her son — What the Ivy told Citarles — 

Language of the Violet — The Lily — The Camomile — The 

Flax — The Wülow — The Snoiv-Drop — The Aspen. 

"Blessings on his head who invented writing !" exclaims 

j the poor exile, that lonely tenant of a friendless home, when 

I he sometimes views a little messenger penned, folded and 

' sealed in his own little cottage, away over the deep, and glis- 

tening with the tears of a wife or a mother. 

How often has the fond son, self-banished from the paternal 
roof to seek his fortune, uttered it, when a letter from that 
dear home, found him on a bed of languishing, and flushed 
'■ his cheek, brightened his eye, and restored strength to his 
frame; while his physician, unconscious of the cause, idly 
marveled at the strange results of pills and powders. Who 
wonders at it, and yet what is this, compared with that nobler 
language, 

"That eider scripturs writby God's ownhand?" 
Have you never wandered away by yourself, into the woods 
and fields, and felt a something like companionship with the 
blue sky, the murmuring streams, the rustling leaves, the 
bee's low hum, and the voices of the ephemeral race that 
sports in the sunbeam ? Did it not seem to you that the din 
of the city would sound unpleasantly to you at such a time, 
and feel ready to exclaim, 

"The whole broad earth is beautiful. 
To minds attuned aright ?•" 

Then, at the evening hour, when gathered around the blaz- 
ing hearth, you have gazed upon the eountenances of your 



20 LANGUAGE OP 

brothers, sisters and parents^did not agushingof gladness al- 
most drovvn your heart 1 As the light and shade alternately 
flitted over their faces, like shadows on a lake, how often did 
you detect yourself trying to rcad the thoughts which thus 
clouded or illuminated them. That was the language of the 
countenance. 

Go with me, if you will, and as we wander forth, we will 
listen to the language of nature; talk with the flowers, the 
stars, the seasons and the winds, for strange as it may seem, 
they all can talk. This is the language of Inanimate Na- 
ture, 

"'Tis unconfined, 

To Christian land or Jewry; fairly writ 

ín language universal to mankind." 

Then, if you are not wearied, we will hearken to the birds 
that tell their little tales of love and fear and care; to the 
insects that hum their pleasures and their pains; see too, the 
beast that looks his gratitude and rage; and thence respect 
our fellow-tenants of the earíh, which, as they have a lan- 
guage of their own, have feelings; who shall say, not thoughts? 

Then but I'll not stop to tell you now. 

The flowers — those stars of the lower firmament ! Who 
does not love to contémplate their annual phases from bud to 
blossom, and from bloom to fall? With what varied lighi 
they shine. 

Perhaps you think they never talk; I presume your doubta 
will be removed, as were those of a young friend of mine. I 

will relate ah ! here is the little convert with his moth- 

er; let him tell his own story. 

"Why so thoughtful Charles ?" said a fond parent to a lad. 
who had seen scarce ten summers — "I hope that you had a 
pleasant walk." "Yes mother delightful, but I was thinking 



INANIMATE NATtTRE. 21 

about a piece I read the other day." What was the subject, 
my son ?" "Leaves having tongues, flowers talking, and the 
roices of the stars, but I did'nt believe it; I thought 'twas on- 
ly poetry." "Do you remember any of it Charles !" "Yes, 
mother, for after it had told all about the wall-flower, and the 
daisy, and the hawthorn and laurel, and ever so many more, 
this line carne in, 

"Yes — flowers have tones — God gavo to each, 
A lar.guage of ¡ts own." 

Oh, and now I recollect another, 

"God spreads the earth,an open book, 

In cSiaracters of liíe, 
All where the human eye doth look 

Seems with His glory rife; 
He paints upon tho burning sky 

In every gleaming star, 
The wonder of His homes on high, 

Shining to faith afar." \r^ 

"Well, do you not think it poetry now ?"' "Yes, mother, not 
j that, but I think it is írue. too." "Why, my son ?" "Be- 
cause as I wandered down by that little murmuring brook, 
away in the woóds, I saw a great oak lying on the ground 
i v/ith some sort of vine wound about it, as though it loved tho 
oíd tree very much, and I saw that its little claspers were 
crushed in several places." "That was ivy, Charles.'' 
• "Well, I lay down on a greeñ knoll cióse by it, and that 
: clinging vine somehow told me a thought, as I looked at it; 
how it was weak and had been crceping all its life, up and up, 
round and round, and loved the tree very much> and how it 
thought the oak was strong, very strong, because many great 
roots held it firmer than a house; but now the tempest had 
blown it down and crushed the poor ivy in the fall. 



22 LANGUAGE OF 

Then it seemed to say, cling not to earthly things, for even 
oaks will not last forever." 

I might go on to tell you of what else the mother and her 
boy conversed, but I must omit it ts> ask if the flowers ever told 
yon any thing. 

Do you say no 1 I fear that you answer hastily; think a 
moment. 

Did you never spy a velvet violet peeping out from beneath 
the'snow, and as it unfolded its soft leaves to the winds so 
chill, have you not wondered why it woke from its winter's 
sleep so early, and feared that it could not live ? And then 
when you have seen its tiny cup brimming with a June dew- 
drop, has it not seemed to rebuke your idle wonder at its ap- 
pearance and apprehension for its fate; and to tell you how 
that Great Being, Who formed and cradled it in snows, and 
preserved it amid the cold storms, wóuld rnuéh more preservo 
you? 

Did you ever gaze upon that ancient rival of Solomon in 
his glory — the lily in snowy array ; 

"That Lily of íhe vale wliose virgin flower, 
Trembíes at every breeze, beneatli its leaí'y bower," 
without feeling that it had told you a beautiful, but humbling 
truth ? As if it had said, 'deck your person as you will, you 
are not arrayed like me /' When you felt how hopeless it 
was to vie even with the little flower in external beauty, have 
you not been conscious that you possessed what the lily 
cannot claim ? A mind that you might adorn, without fear 
of competition. 

There is the Camomile; only yielding a sweeter fragrance 
as you tread upon it; one can almost think it an intelligent 
being, adorned with a christian grace. What a beautiful 
esample of good for ill ! How eloquent, yet fragrant is tho 
rebuke which it sends up to us from its low bed ! 



IN ANÍMATE n ature. 28 

Thefíeld of flax, heaving a mimic sea, with its blue blossoms. 

The painter's canvas is infolded in its lawny stem ; yes, 
ánd the very tints and lines with which he makes his bright 
creations almost live and breathe, receive their softness from 
its lint-seed urns. 

Though all umvoven yet, paper is there, to whose fair sheets 
we owe the record of ten thousand thoughts, thoughts other- 
wise forgotten. 

Flax had a language once; an humble tale of industry and 
toil; a homely one of peace and happiness and plenty, homely 
because al lióme. 

The time has been, when poets loved to picture scenes of 
sweet contení, where the "little wheel's" low humming round 
and round, made music; and when in mournful numbers they 
would sing of a home deserted, a hearth cold and lonely, and 
a little band that once clustered there, scattered and gone for- 
ever, they would with Rogers sing, 

"Her wheel at rest — the mation cliarms no more." 

íl Her tcheel at rest /" What a feeling of desolateness did 
this brief, this simple announcement once bring, but not so 
now. Thosedays are past, reader, for believe me, such work- 
day music never oífends the ears of modern fashionables ex- 
cept by accident. 

What an unseemly accompaniment would it be to the 
thrumming óf the piano, or the long drawn sweetness of the 
"last new song," and yet the lace that flaunts so gaily in the 
assembly room, and the fair texture which bears the music of 
that very melody was drawn oul to the tune of that same un- 
seemly hum. 

I said the flax had a language once; it speaks it yet, but 
with an air so lowly, so every-day-like, that I fear it is seldom 
heard or heeded. 



24 LANGUAGE OF 

I leave its teachings with you, reader, it is the language of 
truth. 

The Weeping Willow ! Who has ever seen its pensil» 
form drooping over the streamlet or the tomb, without a feel- 
ing of sadness coming over his soul, and the touching remem- 
brance of that time, when Judah's daughters sat down by Ba. 
bel's waters and wept, and 

"Silcnt their harps, each cord unstrung-, 
On pendent willow branches hung ." 

Thus the willow of Babylon, though a wanderer from it» 
home in the far-off Levant, bears on its leaves a tale of sor- 
row. 

In the early spring, the little Snow-drbp bouhd in its iey 
chains, lies cióse to the frosty earth; but soon the ascending 
sun melts the crystal links, and the little prisoner looks forth 
beautiful amid the desolation. 

How like the weary, hope-lit spirit, bound in the bonds 
of mortal sense, and chilled by the rude blasts of a wintry world, 
which would fain "fly away and be at rest;" and then, when that 
greater Sun dispels the winter and the gloom, how c'alm, how 
beautiful does the manumitted bloom in that bright, balmy 
clime of perennial spring, wh'ere there is no more change. 

You have seen the Aspen Poplar conspicuous inthe grové, 
%vith its silver livery of nature's putting on. Its thousand 
leaves, you know, will rock like eradles, and quiver at the 
slightest breath, as though a tempest shook a maple or a beech. 
How tremblingly alive ! 

What did the Aspen tell you ? Did it not whisper, that 
while some minds, like maples feel not the breeze, and bow 
only to the gale, there are others whose quick feelings are as 
keenly sensitive as its own leaves; hearís whom a look will 
agítate, a light word riaelt, a harsh ene witlier ? Thus then 



INANIMATE N ATURE. 25 

ií counselled; "remember your companions; be careful, kind; 
remember — what 1 the aspen tree ? no, rather the aspen-lieart. 
I presume that you have had such talks with the trees and 
flowers, (for what youth, what child has not ?) and I hope 
that now, if never before, you believe of the Language of Na- 
ture, in all her vast'and beautiful departments, as did Charles 
of the plece he read, "if it is poetry, it is truth too." 



CHAPTERIII. 



A liltle floral dictionary — Language oftlie Nettle — The Bram- 
hle—The Olive— The Poppy—What grief will do— The 
Amaranlh — The Mistletoe — What the author ventured to do 
for the sake of the dialogue — Why the flowers never told the 
reader a thought — A piece of advice which he will follow, if 
he please. 

The language of this beautiful race is so intelligible, that 
vocabularies of the thoughts suggested by the different planta 
and shrubs have been written by individuáis of several na- 
tions. Many a thought can be expressed in a nosegay, which 
will 'be understood equally well by the Spaniard, the Italian 
añd the American; in fact, by all, who are acquainted with 
the habits and peculiarities of the several flowers which com- 
pose it; for, says the poet, 

'•In eastern lands'they talk in Jloiuers, 
And they teli in a garland their Ioves and cares; 

Each blossora that blooms in their garden bowers, 
On its leaves a mystic language bears." 

Gladly would I let him sing on,"were it in accordarioe with 
B 



26 



LANGUAGE OF 



my design; but I have made a few selcctions of flowers and 
their language, which I will now give you. Such a Iist 
when complete, is called a Floral Dictionary. 



Ñame. 


Language. 


Ñame. 


Langtjage. 


Amaranth, 


Immortality. 


Lily, 


Beauty with In- 


Beech, 


Prosperity. 




nocence. 


Bramble, 


Envy. 


Liverwort, 


Confidence. 


Camomile, 


Good for evil. 


Mistletoe, 


I surmount all 


Columbine, 


Folly. 




obatacles. . 


Cypress, 


Mourning. 


Nettle, 


Cruelty. 


Daisy, 


Innocence. 


Olive, 


Peace. 


Flax, 


Domestic In- 


Palm, 


Victory. 




dustry. 


White Pink, 


Ingenuousness. 


Hollyhock, 


Ambition. 


Poppy, 


Consolation. 


Hop, 


Injustice. 


Sensitive Plant,Timidity. 


Honeysuckle, 


Affection. 


Snow-drop, 


Flope. 


Ivy, 


Misplaced Af- 


Sun-flower, 


False Riches. 




fection. 


Venus' Fly- 




Laurel, 


Glory. 


Trap, 


Beware ! 


Marigold, 


Grief. 


Wall Flower 


Love in death. 






Willow, 


Pensive sadness. 



Some of these sentiments will occur to you, as peculiarly 
appropriate. The Nettle, stinging a.t the slightest touch and 
piereing the hand with a thousand poisoned shafts, so minute 
as to elude the eye — a cruelty íruly refined ! 

The Bramble, fair game for the farmer's hoe, and the gar^ 
dener's hosíility; how like envy; and in wide contrast, the 
Olive, whence the dove of olden time plucked the welcome 
token. What can it tell of, but peace ? Seldom in the his- 
íory of nations, has its lovely language been disregarcled. 
How singular, that the green bough should be undersíood 
and respected, where even the white fiag is unused and un- 
known. Upon many a shore pressed by the feet of strangers, 
it bears its glad, and I may say, heavenly missíon, "Peace 
be with you.'.' 



IK ANÍMATE NATÜRE. 27 

The Poppy, the slumber-bringing Poppy,* with iís scarlet 
leaves; what has it of consolation ? Who does not know that 
sleep is the alleviator of sorrow; that the deep sobs of the 
child grow fainter and fainter as sleep comes on; that the 
aching heart is soothed, and the tearless grief of the man is 
assuaged, or at least forgotten in repose ? 

How puré, how God-like is that benevolence, which since 
man ivould be "of few days and fúll of trouble;" since he will 
íbster hopes that must be blighted, and engage in enterprises - 
that must be defeated, thus brought out of grief, its own sure 
alleviation. 

Henee it is, that men, in the prospect of an immediate and 
fearful death, sleep calmly and sweetly, till the dawn of the 
fatal day, whose setting is not for them, and whose dews will 
water the heaving turf — their last covering. Such is the fact, 
and however strange it may seem, not to resignation and 
peace, but to the deep anguish of their bosoms, they ov/e that 
peaceful nighí.f 

I might allude £o several others, possessing equal signifi- 
cance and forcé; as the Amaranth, that favorite with the po- 
ets. Milton wreaths_the crowns of angels with Amaranth 
and gold ; 

" Immortal Amaranth, a flower that ones 
In Paradisc, fast by the tree of ]ife, 
Began to bloom, but soon for man's offence, 
To íleaven removed," 
which latter faney of the poet, one is more than half inclined 
to believe, upon finding a weed bearing a strong family r$ 
semblance to the pig-weed, that worthy representative in the 
vegetable world, of its stubborn, troublesome namesake in the 
animal kingdom, dignified with the appellation of Amaranth ! 



'Whence we have opium, &¿c. +Dr. Rush on diseases of the mind. 



88 



LANGT7AGE OF 



It is an elegant foreign species however, which is referred to, 
that, surviving its faded sistersof the earth, stilMives on, and 
whispers of immortality, to the beholder. 

I might speak of the Fly-Trap, the Laurel, and the Wall 
Flower, that clings still closer tothe crumbling ruin; of that 
íittle sailor, called the Gulf-weed, 

"Sailing on ocean's foam, 

Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath preval)." 

In the words of Mrs. Lincoln, how strikingly análogo uts 
this poor weed to many a human being, blown about on the 
ocean of life, by every breath of passion or caprice ! Who 
would not rather, like the mountain oak, meet the storma of 
life, firml'y rooted in virtuous principies ? 

I wíll mention only one other — the Mistletoe. What an 
example it afFords to the young; what a language it speaks to 
all ! I hardly wonder that oíd Britain's priests, the Druids, 
held it in such veneration. Do you ask why ? 

A.* See this Íittle plant with lance-shaped leaves and snowy 
blossoms, which I hold in my hand. R.f Where did you 
pluck it ? By the hrook? I think I saw something like it, 
bending over the stream. A. No, you never saw it there. 
R. On the Mil or in the garden ? A. No. R. O, I mistrust 
it grew on that high. rock by the falls, for I observed some 
Íittle vines creeping ouí ,of the fissures ofit. A. You are 
wrong again; this strange Íittle shrub never oecupied an inch 
of earth on the globe. R. Noto, at least, you have betrayed, 
'"• the secret; it isa water plant. A. I fear rather, that you 
have betrayed your ignorance, for í did not find it thei'e. 
R. Pray where did it grow ? You almost tempt me to think 
it a winged animal, living altogether in the air, or the pro- 



Author. tReader. 



IN ANÍMATE líATUEE. 29 

duction of some other planet, perhaps the moon. A. Sup- 
pose I should give it to you, what would you do with it ? R. 
I should probably throw it away as a very useless gift. A. 
Then I certainly shall not expose my little puzzle to such 
unmerited contempt. Suppose we take a walk in that grove, 
just across the road. Here we are; what a delightful shade — 
see. these are pales; what mighty columns Nature rears, all 
from a little brown cup, not larger than a thimble ! 

R. What ! Let me see that mis — mis — A. Mistletoe; do 
not express your gratitude for favors as you proposed to do. 
R. It is the same, the very same. A. What is the same — 
your intention ? R. No, no, but look up on the lowest branch 
of that tall tree; there is surely a Mistletoe clinging to it : the 
same white, nodding flowers, and spear-shaped leather leaves. 
Now I can unravel the mysíery; it doesn't grow on the earth 
or in the water, as other plants do, which have roots, but it 
"lives on trees, lazy thing ! It reminds meof some one I know, 
who idle himself, lives upon the hard earnings of others. A. 
Rather let it remind us of our dependence which we should 
feel and gratefully acknowledge, upon that great and good 
Being, to whom we are indebted for existence and every bles- 
sing which we now enjoy, orfor which wehope. 

Yes, reader, for I have clothed you with all this ignorance 
for the sake of the dialogue, take the language of the Mistle- 
toe for your motío; not like it however, to depend upon the 
exertions of others, but upon your own energies, and though 
euccess may be as much of an enigma as I su¡)posed it was, 
how a plant could grow, if neither on land ñor rock, ñor in 
water, you will find a sphere of usefulness and consequent 
happiness. "Determine then," says the Mistletoe, "to sur- 
mount all obstacles" — engage in a good cause, say I. 

From the short list which I have given you, many a -good 



30 LANGUAGE OF 

thought may be culled; unite the Bramble and the Beech; 
it would be an ugly nosegay, and it would tell an ugly trutb: 
:í envy attends prosperity." 

Would you express this sentiment, affection for false riches 
is misplaced ? Wind the Ivy about the Sunflower, and you 
have it; but would you speak of innocence and beauty, there 
is the Lily. 

Some of these flowers never told me a thought you say. 
Shall I tell you why ? For the same reason that you do not 
understand a book that you have never read carefully. 

I, presume that you have read the account of the early set- 
tlement of America; of a time when the Indians were not as 
novv, a hunted few, but a mighty people; when our forefath- 
ers, a feoble band, sought liberty and a home in the wilderness 
of a new world. 

In their intercourse wíth the natives, the whites were fre- 
quently obliged to send Indian-messengers to the settlements, 
for beads and blankets, rum and rattleboxes, looking-glasses. 
lead, bits of iron, and all that odd assemblage of the useful. 
worthless and ridiculous, that renders Indian traffic peculiar, 

You will easily imagine that the traders could not be 
supplied like a modern secretary of Legation, with gilt-edged 
paper, Gillott's pens and rosewood desks; but with a broad 
green leaf for paper, a stone table of nature's hewing, and an 
oíd nail, they would trace what they wished to communicate, 
and send it by a native. 

You can form no adequate idea of the reverence with which 
they rcgarded this wonderful leaf; one oíd chief put it to his 
ear, and after patiently listening for a while, shook his head 
with a.disappointed air. Another addresed it in a very pom- 
pous speech of considerable length, and a third viewed it in . 
speechless amazement. 



INANIMATE NATURE. 31 

Ignorant of writing, they could not comprehend the myste- 
ry, and the story of the "talking leaf," mingled with just 
enough of fiction to render it pleasant to an Indian's ear, form- 
ed one of their numerous traditions. 

fn the view which we have taken, talking leaves are no 
mysteries; though human hand has touched them not, they 
all have language; all are talking leaves. Read, yes, study 
this living page of God's volume, and though perhaps you 
cannot assign to each bud, 

''A sentirnent and ppeech." 
yet eommune with them, for they will malte you wiser and 
better. 

Talk with the "flower-people;" they are the inspired of God, 
and will tell you nothing but truth. However varied may 
be their language upon some subjects, they have a common, 
eommission, a commission received from Him, . 
"Who flung them with a hand so free, 
O'er hill and dale and desert sod." 

ít is implied in the remaining lines: 

''That man where'cr he vvalks may see 
In every step, the stamp of God." 
Thus, though Milton's Eve, exclaimed in her farewell la- 
nie'nt, as she hung over the flowers of Paradise, 
"Oh flowers, 
That never will in other climate grow," 
yet, wherever the outcast man has wandered, amid Alpine 
snows or burning sands, these beautiful inmatesof Edén have 
gone out before him every where, fair and bright as ever, to 
bless him. 

Wearied with the inconsistencies, and sickened at the ab- 
surdities of man's productions you may be, but you can ever 



Z.i Langüagk of 

turn with conftdcnce and delight to the pagea of nature so di- 
versiüed, yet so consistent, so beautiful, yet true. 

Poverty may deprive you of books and papers, but you may 
have occasion to bless that poverty, as it compels you tP read 
nature, if you read at all. 

The splendid volumes of a princely library might assist you 

Xojind ibis or tbat in the great book of nature, for after all, tliey 

are nothing but its talles of contenis, and who would rejeeí 

a volume which cost íhem nothing, and such a volume ! 

In conclusión, are you not ready to exclahn with the poet ? 

"There is a language in eacli flowcr 

That opens to the eye ; 
■A voiceless — but a magic power, 
Doth in earlh's blossoms lie." 



INANIMATE NAXUKS. 



CHAPTER IV. 



Whut we have done — Chat with the reader — Anecdote — Learn- 

ing and knowing are two things — Lar.guage of the night — 

Distará lands — Morning on the AIps — What is nóbler than 

mouniain scenery. 

Well, reader, we have had a short chai with the flow'ers: - 
we put our ear ío the earth, and caught the Violeí's modest 
whisper, "trust m Providence, 5 ' and the frost-chained prison- 
er's song of hope; we loohed up and heard the Mistleíoe's 
stirring exhoríation, and the Aspen's thrilling words; we 
crushed the Camomile, and it blessed us. 

Short as was our talk, it wa-s long enough, I hope, to re- 
mind you what a vast íreasure-house, Naíure is, and more 
than this, that it is all y our own. 

That you thought of a hundred things that were omitted, 
I can easily believe; that you glanced at a hundred objecte, 
v/hich you would have gJadly tarried to gaze upon, and won- 
dered that I did not feel so too, is noí sirange. 

In a theme, for whicli the fiald, the forest and the wayside 
furnish materials in almost boundless profusión, my duíy ia 
the pleasing hut arduous one ofséleotion raíhér iban co/lecíicn. 

Are }'ou so dissatisfied with me that you feel resolved to do 
yeur own selecting for the fuíure ? Have í discharged the 
duty so imperfectly, that you are more than half inclined to . 
review the ground, with some better guide than I am; to be- 
come better acquainted, not with distant nations and far-off 
lands, but with the rainbow-painted tribes that inhabit the pas- 
tures, and whose forms are mirrored in the reed-hidden brooks? 
Then, indeed, have I been eminently successful, and can in 
eincerity bid you God-speed. 



34 LÁNGÜAGE OF 

1 remember driving, when a little boy, very swiftly througl; 
a bcautiful but unfrequented valley. The thrush built her 
nest by the road-side, and the squirrel's shrill chirrup sbund- 
ed from the bushes as we brushed by. 

Whir-r-r, whir-r-r, and away went the cunning partridge, 
atartled at the sound of wheels, from its leafy covert. Tunip- 
te-tump, beat the gay-liveried wood-pecker on his hollow tree, 
till the single strokes degenerated into a double drag. 

Still on we whirled, and as I glaneed now on one side, now 
on the other, the pleasure of each glance was more than half 
spoiled by the thought of how much I lost in nct being able to 
look all ways at once.' 

Ever and anón, the clear, bell-like note of some unseen bird, 
awakened all the boy within me, and I peered here and there 
through the foliage, to catch a glimpse of the stranger, but the 
road was smooth; smack, crack went the whip, and away we 
dashed, faster than ever. 

A wicked thought carne into my mind, "ifa wheei would 
only run ofF — ifyen" — my benevolence qúickly added, "softly, 
ever so softly," but conscience, the little ángel, whispered all 
the while, in most decided tones, "wrong, wrong." How 
gladly would I have givon up the anticipated visit, and wan- 
dered the long day, amid those shady recesses l 

Ás we hastened on, Ispied on the sunny side of an oíd log y 
a sentinel woodchuck, in his overalls of gray; but as we ap- 
proached, his clumsy heels twinkled in the air, as much asto 
say, "not at home to day/' and he was gone. 

It was the spring-time of nature, as it was of my young 
spirit; the trees wore a livelier green, and the wild roses that 
bordered the road exhaled a sweeter perfume than they were 
wont. 

The blood in my veins, instead of flowing lazily along-, 



INANIMATE NATURE. 25 

fairly bounded, for the breath of the thousand living, growing 
things around, somehow gave me neto life, and I was happy. 

Many a time since, have I thought of that beautiful vale, 
and the delight with which I should revisit those scenes, that 
like a dream of the past, haunt my memory still. 

Thus I would have you feel, reader, and though in your 
future acquisitions, you may "forget the things that are be, 
hind," and among them, my liítie book, yet if I unseal any 
new fountain of pleasure to your mind; if Language appear 
no longer as an unseemly thing, "a root ouí of dry ground," 
devoid of freshness and beauty; if ycu begin to kncno, what you 
long ago learned, L shall glory in being thus forgotten. 

"I linger yet with naíure," said one, and loho would not ? 
Night has its language too; a kind of spirit-voíce, not merely 
heard, but felt; so have the seasons. Shall we passthem by? 
Just as you please, reader; you can turn over the h\v fol- 
lowing leaves upon this subject, unread. and they shall be 
mine,, not yours; but if you do, remember that they are no 
longer your own; never turn back to them; remember ! Or 
we can go on, hand in hand together, not that I should be 
lonely to ramble on by my'selfj O no, that cannot be in such 
a world as ihis is, wheíe flpwers and stars and seasons talk; 
but we could converse, you know, "of this and that, and íhat 
and this,'' and when the hour ofparting carne, why, we would 
divide our little stock of knowledge equally, and as we trav- 
eled on life's journey, we both might wish our paths had run 
together longer. 

Did the deep stillness of a summer's night ever wake you, 
reader ? When the v/inds weré asleep that sung your lulla- 
by; when the purling brook seemed to glicle mere softly than 
it was wont, as if fearful to disturb Nature's repose; when 
the strange cry of "Whip-poor-will" had died away in the 



35 LANGÜAGE OP 

thicket; when the "drowsy tinklings of the distant fold" 
were stilled, and even the more íhan Hebrew guttural, 

"Brekckekex koax koax, 

Brekekckcx koax koax," 

of those oíd choristers and ventriloquists of the swarap were 
hushed, and the dull roar of the mill-fall struck heavily on 
the ear, making the silence audible 1 

ín such an hour, who has not sometimes had a feeling of 
wakefulness steal over his senses, quiekening his ear and 
sharpening his sight, which neither "counting" ñor any other 
opiate of childhood could dispel ? 

'Tis-memory's resurrection hour. Then she gives up her 
dead. From her secret Gells issue a thousand buried deed» 
to life again. The half-rased tablets glowed anew with linea 
traced long ago, and long ago forgotten; and as the tide of 
thought, a mingled one of sorrow, joy, regret, carne rushing 
on, how did its heavings beat against your temples, as does 
the shut-up sea, against its prison walls. 

Those temple-throbs ! so painfully distinct and loud, yo« 
could not sleep ! 

Then, how yon lay, and longed, and listened for the slight- . 
est rustí e, or the alarrn-note of a staríled bird; how fervently 
you wished the herald horn would sound, or the slow clock 
strike, or even some fashionable mouse, make late repast on 
hoarded stubhorn crust; any thing to break the silence and 
dissolve the spell. But no. 

What sound as of a distant drum breaks softly on the earl 
muffled and low. Hark ! count the strokes. One — two — 
three— four— go on — more yet — sixty, one, two — it is a fu- 
neral mareh. Reader, your own heart plays it, for 'tis that 
you hear. 

That low cali, has Life, the drummer, beat, the líve-long 



INÁNIMATE NATURE. 37 

é&y to lure your'spirit home; the signal for the soul's review. 

What a feeling of awe and reverence carne over you, just 
to think of it. That clink of the machincry of life ! night 
gives it voice and makes its language heard. 

Has passion beat its jarring roll thereon ? Then so much 
quicker will the tune be done. Its march played out, what 
then ? How did the frighted soul turn swan-like on itself, 
and see itself a being that should survive that wondrous drum 
of life, yea, and the louder music of this busy earth. 

'That hour of midnight vvas the noon of thought,' yes 

"Of that mute eloqucnce which passes speech." 

Was it not, reader ? 

What youth has not hung with delight, over the glowing 
descriptions of the traveler in distant lands 1 Of Alpine mor- 
nings; how some queenly peak, heaving from out "the sea of 
night," lights up her herald-fire; how the far-ofF unrisen sun 
mirrors his form in her centennial snows; then, how these so- 
lar watch-fires blazed from clirfto eliíf, unsullied altars rear- 
ed by Nature's God ! Of mountain heights, the lone eagle's 
home, whence cities look like hamlets, and palaces like cots; 
how Europe lay mapped out beneath, with her blue-rushing 
Rhine, her castled hills and verdure-mantled vales; and how 
the clank of engines, the hammer's ceaseless din, the anvil's 
ring, and all the noises of a world of life, carne up on the thin 
air, soft as the bee's low hum, 

"that winds her mellow horn, 

Blithe to salute the sunnysmile of raorn/' 

Oft in my boyhood, did I long to stand on spots like these, 

that I might drink in the deep, rich grandeur of such scenes; I 

thought 'twould stir somewhat of nobleness within, and make 

a man of me. I almost despised my native home, its hills and 

C 



38 LANGUAGE OF 

woods and streams, and felt like casting off the bonds of love 
that kept me prisoner there. 

Reader, did .you never feel so 1 I anticípate your ready 
answer, "yes." Well, suppose yourself that happy traveler, 
and as you stood at sunset, perhaps on Jura, the cry should 
ring along those snowy heights, "a world ! a world in sight!" 
how quick would Europe's little acres, unrolled beneath you, 
be forgotten, as you turned your eye towards that upper sea, 
the azure depths of heaven ! 

There, sure enougjfcit is, just heaving into view; a brilliant 
world! "O you o.dfy mean a star then." Only, reader ! 
What are all the scenes which you and I admired so much, 
compared with that bright evening star ? 



CHAPTERV. 



The stars of Heaven and Earth — Their language — The stars' 
lesson of Humility and Hope — The morning star — Its lan- 
guage — The Polar Star — Comets — The extinguished star — 
Its language — Our neighlor in the Universe — The Fall of 
Niágara — The sublime teachingsof the Stars. 
I said a short time since, that the flowers were the stars of 
this lower world; I would not recall the expression if I could. 
The stars above, bright, changeless ones, are sisters of the fair 
flowers, and frail as fair; these whisper of our present, those 
of our future self ; you should regard them both; these as 
they fade; those as they shine, bright as when they 

"Peal'd their first notes to sound the march of Time," 
or their bírth-song floated over the cradled Earth, their young 



INANIMATE NATURE. 39 

sister. The stars of Heaven and Earth ! Look on these, 
and see life's shifting scenes; three words express them : bud- 

ded, blossomed, blasted ! and these three are all. Gaze 

up to those, and in their quenchless light, still shining on 
through clear and cloudthe same, read of immortality. These 
are the stars of life's brief summer day; those are the stars 
that shed still brighter rays, amid the cold, clear winter's 
night of death. Turn to these; their faded forms remind 
you, you must die; then look on those; they tell you, you will 
Uve ! 

"Heaven bless our stars !" is often uttered as an idle word, 
but let me say, will all their lessons now newly graven on 
my heart, Heaven bless our stars ! 

You have sometimes continued gazing at them, till the 
dews of the listening night fell free and fast; till you felt 
how diminutive was the little craft you sailed upon, when the 
great unnumbered fléet of worlds hung out their signal lights; 
till the tumult of passion was all hushed, and the thoughts of 
your heart, like the tides of the sea, flowed up towards Hea- 
ven and God. Then the stars whispered humility's lesson in 
your ear. 

Then there are stars of the morning too. See that bright 
éentinel-star, that yet far from its setting, has outwatched the 
night; like a ship at sea, whose unextinguished watch-fir© 
still faintly gleams across the deep, through the morning's 
pearl and gold, that finds ít out of port. 

See how its feeble ray struggles with the sunbeams; one 
can almost fancy it receding into the liquid depths of heaven, 
a fugitive from day. Now the strained eye can scarce dis- 
cern its palé and fading form; brighter now — now dim — a 
point; 'tis lost — melted, melted into light. 

What a beautiful language does it speak from its high 



40 LANGUAGE OF 

home, to a struggling hope; wliat a rebuke to the doubting f 
Many a spirit bright and heavenly as that star, waiting not to 
set, has "gone out" in the midst of a career as high and glo- 
rious as its own; gone out, amid the wonder and grief and 
doubt and murmurings of men. 'A fate so dark, so sadden- 
ing!' they say. Dark? Saddening? In the teachings of that 
star, how beautiful, how sublime, when the puré, parting 
spirit, in the language of White, 

"Scts as sets the morning star, which goes 
Not down behind the darken'd west, ñor hides, 
Obscured among the tcmpestof the sky, 
Butmeltsaway into t!io lightof heaven." 

There is the Polar Star, 

"Whose faithful beams conduct the tvand'ring ship, 
Through the wide desert of the pathless deep." 

Who ever saw it shining from out its northern home, 
"With the faint tremblings of a distant Jight," 

and his thought did not hover over the mariner on the yeasty 
deep? When the storm howls through the shattered rigging, 
and shreds the half-reefed sails; when the masts creak and 
bend beneath its power, and the hoarse cali of the speaking- 
trumpet, "all hands on deck !" is faintly heard amid the crash 
of spars and the roar of waters; when the reckoning is lost, 
and the compass dashed in pieces, then the poor sailor looks. 
aloft, and there, dbove the gloom of storm and night, the cur- 
taining clouds half-drawn, shines the Pole-star, the hope-light 
of his soul, beaming down, bright, beautiful, fair as ever ! 

Is there no language in the Polar Star, reader? Life is a 
troublous sea, and all men, mariners; when earthly guides 
and hopes are almost gone together, that star whispers, *'look 
aloft ! look aloft I" 



UÍANIMATE NATÜRE. 41 

While gazing at those bright, untarnished links of time, 
one feels a kind of companionship with the men of other and 
far distant days, and the long ages dwindle down to years. 
Why, just over your head in a clear January evening shinea 
Orion; the same Orion that Chaldean shepherds saw; the 
same "diré Orion," that roused the sea in Virgil's time, when 

" Allcharg'd with tempest rose the baleful star;" 

the same Orion to which the inspired prophet alluded, when 
gazing at the stars as we do now, he uttered the sublime in- 
junetion, "Seek Him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, 
and turneth the shadow of death into morning." Yes, the 
seven stars are there, and "Arcturus with his sons." Then 
southeast of the zenith shines Sirius the dog-star, to which 
Rome's haughty priests made sacrifice, and earlier yet, the 
dark Egyptian watched its glowing disc, his herald-star of 
harvest and the rising Nile, and older still, 'twas time-piece 
of oíd Thebes ! 

Did you ever think as you watched its fair light, that Sirius 
was a near neighbor of ours, in the universe of God? It is, 
and yet were it to fly from its orbit towards the earth, at the 
rate of a million of miles each day, forty three thousand, 
three hundred years would roll by, before its journey would 
be done. Sixteen hillions of miles ! Who can compi'ehend 
ií? Express it in figures; 16,000,000,000,000 ! Who can 
number it? And this, reader, ihis is a neiglibor too ! Take 
the wings of the morning light and visit it, and then, as you 
stand on that far-off isle, look away on, into the depths of im- 
measurable space, where thickly blaze the congregated firea 
of euns, perhaps the destined centres of new and nobler sys- 
tems, which shall yet people some distant región of infinity ! 
Who will say, even then, that mortal eye has seen or human 



-42 LANGTJAGE OF 

heart conceived, more than the suburbs, the very outskirts of 
created things? 

How do the starry hosts seem to lift up their voices togeth- 
er; how fearfully sublime the language, when, 
"The countiess spheies of yonder sky, 

Catch up the wondrous strain ; 
When bending o'er their golden Jyres, 

As if at monarch's nod — 
There issues from a million choirs, 
The same deep whispcr — God i 

Who can look upon the red furnace-glow of a comet, with 
its fiery train'of a million of miles, and not feel an undefinable 
sensation of awe, as in the presenee of some strange, myste- 
rious being? What worlds uncalendared, uncalculated, were 
dazzled by its glare; on what strange errand sent; when first 
it started on the rnighty round; whether creation's morning 
was the time? If thén, 'tis now just heaving i'nto view from 

" The long travel of six thousand yéars." 
These; and a hundred other thoughts flash on the mind. Bu-t 
when we bid imagination trace its brilliant wake, back into 
the depths whence it emerged, or following on its guiding light, 
with it, "to double the rnighty cape of heaven," and plunge 
again so far from home and earth, that thought and science 
never wandered there; then that comet tells us that its con- 
trolling power must be Almighty, nothing less ! 

If one of the fixed stars should be, this moment extin- 
guished, or obedient to the Word, should wheel in some new 
orbit beyond the bound of the far-seeing telescope, we should 
still behold it shining there bright as ever; astronomers 
would continué to number it among the stars, for it would 
still be counted one; its ñame would be often spoken among 
men, for its clear light would still keep flowing on, the long 



INANIMATE N ATURE. 43 

way down to earth.* Year after year might glide away, 
and the rays that left thelr birth-place Iast, would not tremble 
yet, upon the gazing eye ! 

What does the quenched star seem to say? Is it not this? 
"You too, must leave a legacy behind — your influence ! Let 
it be, like mine, a legacy of light, and then, iong after you 
have been translated to that other firmament which Astrono- 
mers know not of, it will still linger, gilding the night and 
darkness of an evil world, with its own glory, as it beams, 
gladness and a guide to some weak, wavering heart." 
"So shines a good deed in this naughty world !" 

Such are the lessons of the stars, freely given as their own 
light; lessons of humility and immortality, of hope and faith. 
But we have already lingered long beneath the evening sky, 
and casting one glance more at that scroll of worlds, let me 
commend it, the noblest language of Nature and of night, 
to your further contemplation. — 

The Fall of Niágara ! The thundering- waters ! Who 
has not heard of that native home of clouds and ceaseless 
showers; of its walls of Iivingrock, itsrainbow-cireled front, 
its awful flood, "poured, as if from God's own hollow hand?" 
Heard how foresttrees, a moment tremble on the fearful verge, 
then plunge into the deep abyss, whirling andquivering there, 
throughout their giant frames, as light straws in the autumn 
blast? Who has not heard all this, and fancied, as he heard, 
how, when it burst upon his sight, its voicebrokeon his ear, 
with awful grandeur far surpassing all the eonceptions he 
had ever formed ? 



* It is calculatcd that stars of the sixth magnitude are not less than 
900 millions ofmillions of miles distant from the earth. How long 
•would light he, in performing such a journey, moving 193,000 miles 
inasingle 6eeond? 



44 LANGUAGE OF 

It would not be strange, if the illusion vanished with that 
first glance; if with an irrepressible feeling of disappointment 
he should exclaim, "is that Niágara ? He might wonder at 
the inspiration it had awakened in many a bosom; he might 
feel it in his heart to blame those narrators, whose descriptions, 
more from their acknowledged imperfection, more from what 
they left untold than from what they actually delineated, had 
lured him on a pilgrimage tothe spot. 

He would look again and again, but it would only be aftcr 
long contemplaíion, when he saw how the tall trees, tall, I 
mean, in their native vvoods, were dwarfed in the mighty con- 
trasta it would only be, when he had climbed its towering 
clifts, and descended its steep declivities; when from above, he 
had looked into the yawning chasm, and convulsively thrown 
himself back upon the earth, as if to thwart the mysterious 
power that almost charmed him from its verge; when from 
below. he had looked up the foaming flood till his brain reeled; 
then only, would his feeble powers begin to comprehend the 
majestyofthe scene; then begin to feel that this is Niágara, 
sublime indeed beyond all that he had ever heard or imagined; 
then, he would know something of that language which can 
befelt, but not translated into the set phrase of speech. — 

Seeking an illustration, I undesignedly selected a noble 
specimen of the language of nature; one however which 
loses half its power in being told, and which to be felí, musí 
be both seen and heard. 

It is with that portion of the Universe which night discloses, 
as it is with the cataract; to a casual observer, stars seem 
so many bright gems in the sapphire fíoor of heaven, brillianí 
and beautiful, without being sublime; but to him who studiea 
íhem, who by various calculations determines their magni-. 



rNANIMATE N ATURE. 45 

tude, multitude and distance, they assume their own true as- 
pect, and seem what they really are — worlds ! 

Many a star is at such an inconceivable distance, that it 
produces no physical eífect upon pur globe, and yet its light 
just trembles on the upturned eye; as if God had written 
there in the bright blazonry of heaven, the immensity of the 
Universe, His own infinity; and yet our powers can come, on- 
ly by slow degrees, if ever, to a developement which will 
enable us to grasp the thought. 

Conceive, if you can, what fields of space untraversed yet 
by human thought, flung out by the Almighty's hand, extend- 
ed, lie this side that twinkling world. Sendearth ontowards 
it; earth, moving at the rate of a million and a half miles 
evcry day. Hurry it on; suns rise and set; moons was 
tmd wane; snowsfall and melt and disappear; men growold, 
and turn their blinded eyes aAvay, wearied with watching the 
distant star that twinkles yet, a lucid point ! 

Still earth speeds on; men wondering, lay them down and 
die, and dying, tell their children; they gaze too, and calcú- 
late; calcúlate ¡?nd gaze, and then they die. That star shines 
dimly yet, as the lamp of some far light-house, struggling 
vyith the night ! 

Send light express; light, which each tick cf clock finds far- 
thor on its way, almost two hundred thousand miles. The svriñ- 
winged messenger grows oíd and gray, its journey yet undone! 

If this be not enough, send thought. Take Herschel's teL. 
cscope; turn it towards the gauze-light curtain of the Milky 
Way, 

"Which nightly,as a circling zone, thou seest 
Powdered with stars." 

That wondrous fabric wove in Creation's loom, is rent ! Its 
parting threads resolving into worlds, disclose still other sys- 



46 LANGUAGE OF 

tema, blocking up the vast highway, "whose dust is gold," 
but opening still to thought's progressive flight, the bright 
retainers of the halls of heaven; as the distant wood, seem- 
ing so deep and tangled, prcsents an opening vista as we 
nearer come. 

Onward still, till wearied thought, lost in the wildemess of 
worlds, that closing far behind, seem cutting oíF retreat, — 
adoring, trembling thought, flies humbled back to earth ! 

What awful language has the stars. Who wonders that 
the bard, with voices such as these, resounding in his spirit's 
ear, should say, 

"Divine Instructor! Thy first volume this, 
For man's perusal ; all in capitals ! 
In moon and atars — heaven's goldenalphabet ! 
and open'd Niglu! by thee." 

What will more appropriately cióse our view of this illu- 
mined page, than the almost triumphant interrogation of Mrs. 
Barbauld? 

"la tb.ere nct a tongue in every star, 
That talks with man, and woos him to be wise?" 



INANIMATE NATUBE. 47 



CHAPTER VI. 

Language ofihe seasons — The voice of Spring — Of Summer — '■ 
Of Autumn — Of Winter — Definition of language as al- 
ready considered — Review — Proposition to the reader. 
"There is avoicewith spring's swcct music blending ! 

On every Ieaf and opening bud, a line; 
Field, forest, streara, soft notes to thee are sending; 

Listen ! they breathe of life" 

Will you, reader? Reason trembling asks, "if a man die, 
shall he live again?" Who will answer? Men cannot, ñor 
angels. Then Spring's resurrection-call breathes softly over 
the hills and through the vales; and as the slumbering hosts, 
'earth's mute but living daughters,' come forth, ciad in the 
garments of beauty, their sweet oíFering of praise going upon 
high, they answer, 

"Cold in the dust, thy perish'd heart may lie, 
But that which warm'd it once, shall never dit .'" 
The lowly Liver-leaf, hearing that breezy cali, unfurls its 
triple banner of palé blue; in the deep woods, the sweet 
Anemone catches it, and blooms. The Maple and the Elm 
are clothed again, and the glossy-leaved Willows line the 
streams; the yellow viólets peep out, here and there, at the 
life-giving word; the roaming strawberry sends forth its ten- 
dril-scouts, and the gray, velvet mosses too, are touched with 
a new coat of green. The brooks loosed from their icy 
chains, flow carelessly along the pebbly channel^vith a sil- 
very sound of joy. 

"The time of the singing of the birds hath come," and they, 
you know, make music for the silent host, redeemed from 
winter and death, and singing on, they keep the chorus up, 
for the flowers to grow oy; so the birds keep tune, and the 



48 LANGUAGE OP 

flowers keep time ! Singing and springing ! Who does not 
love the morning of the year? Then, rainbows are born about 
this time, for an April day is a childish thing, all smiles and 
tears, sunshine and showers; and when the flowers flin'g off 
their little gray shrouds, there hangs the bovv, and straight, 
their discs reflect its colored light; some, like the Lily, blend it3 
hues in one; some crimson as the rose; some sport a mantle 
of light green, but all are daughters of the Bow and Hope ! 
So will it be, in that great waking hour, when all the just 
shall stand arrayed in light reflected from above; so in that 
hour will shine their bow of promiss in a cloudless sky ! 

Every thing goes by music in these days; the birds build 
their nests to some merry measure; the dawn is ushered in 
with a song. 

Have you never been by, when the winds "turned out" 
from their thousand leafy beríhs? lf not, I say to you, 

'•Up ! up, arise ! liaste, haste ! the vernal morn 
Purples the oricnt sky ; and see ! the rays 
Of the young sun, the easíern hills emblaze; 
Quick, quick !" 

Hasten to some neighboring wood; how still is every lea£ 
but hush ! hark, what sound is that like distant voices, com- 
ing up from the deep, dim vale ? Nearer, clearer ! The 
winds are turning out now; see how their little couches rock 
and swing. On íhey come to greet the morning with the 
earliest song; just in time — for hear, the deep note of some 
waking bird rings from the thicket. The brooks play a pre- 
lude; the winds and the wooded vales together, make the 
bass, and the birds put in the variations. All the parts in the 
great anthem are filled, but one; and that is yours, reader; 
join then, in the gushings of gratitude, the true, unwritten 
melody of the heart! 



1NANIMATE NATTJRE. 49 

Sweet May comes on; then "leafy June." The forest írees 
put on their glory now; the deep green Oak, the lighter Elm, 
and paler still, the Ash; the silver Poplar and the Willow 
gray — all green, yet each a varied hue ! The Indian Pipe, 
that elegant specimen of Nature's wax-work, with its nodding 
flower and leafless stem, all white as ivory, catches íhe eye, 
here and there near the roots of oíd trees. The ever green 
Laurel and the rough-coated Dogwood are rivals now; the 
latter all sprinkled over with snowy flowers; the formerdeck- 
ed with clusters just as white, but for a faint blush, which 
makes them lovelier. 

Now the Side-saddle flower or Adam's cup rears high a 
temperance banner of dark purple, in the reedy swamp; for, 
from its root spring leafy cups, all filled with crystal water. 
By the shady brooks swing the little yellow pitchers which 
Touch-me-not hangs out, and the Winter-green lifts its deli- 
cate blossom of pink frorn among the dry leaves, while the little 
Blue-bell peeps fearlessly over the rocky cliíf. The ambitious 
Clematis or Virgin's bower climbing to the tree-tops, hangs in 
rich festoons of white ; her silvery plumes from bough to bough. 
The summer hours roll on. The insinuating Dodder, now 
gaily trims the trees and shrubs by brook and pond, with 
bright, gold, íhread; all for its ooard too, for while it clings so 
hvingly, its little fibres are greedily drinking the "dear" 
plant's juices, up ! Contemptible parasite ! The fragrant 
Lilies of puré white appear on many a smooth pond and glassy 
lake; their yellow sisters, too, rise here and there from the 
clear wave; their large round leaves rest gently on the wa- 
ter; all moored with living cables, green islands though they 
are; unpeopled, save when some hapless fly is stranded there, 
or a young water-snake seeks the leafy land, and coiling up* 
lies there to sun itself and sleep. 
D 



51 LANGT7AGE OF 

The Blue-flag waves on the point of its green, supple blaáe, 
a challenge, writ on red and blue in yellow lines, all stolen 
from the bow; a challenge for that haughty foreigner, the 
Fleur-de-lis.* These,too,arequickly gone; the scarlet Lobelia 
and the white Clethra,-f tarry yet, fringing the brooks with 
mingled beauty, and the queenly Sunflower, now in "the full," 
rears her tall head above the rankest weeds of autumn. 

These, "one by one depart," as the year's evening steals 
slowly on; the star-like Áster lingers longest, yet smiling 
faintly mid the withered grass. 
"A spirit in soft musíc calla 
From Autumn'sgray and moss-grown walls, 
And round her withered tree." 

To me, this twílight of the year is her loveliest season. It 
talks so much of the cióse of a well-spent Iife; the sabbath 
of the year, and full of sabbath lessons. The bright glare 
of the summer's sun, is softened into a meilower light; a 
sweetly mournful smile rests on the face of nature; her work 
already done, she lingers yet, like some aged man, and waits 
her change; waits too, in hope ! Yes, when dismantled of 
the robes of death, "the tender germ which in a case russet 
and rude, is folded up," the embryo plant, vvithin its little 
shell, round which, 

"Life's golden threads in endless cireles wind," 
borne by the winds to some distant shore, or hidden in the 
rocky cleft, or buried in the deep vale, slumbers in hope, till 
spring shall cali it f orth, life out of death ! How like a good 
man full of honors and of years, "whose flesh shall rest in 
hope !" 

Now the Ashen seed with its single, polished oar, sculls 

* Generally spolled, Flower de luce. t Sweet pepper-buíh. 



INANIMATE NATTTRE. 50 

íhrough the sea of air, to find a home; the Maple spreads its 
bat-like wings, or sails, (just which you please to cali them,) 
and scuds before the blast, seeking a refuge from the wintry 
storms. The Dandelion lifts its saffron disc from some hum- 
ble spot; withers there, and there, "is silvered o'er with age." 
A strolling boy spies it and plucks it, and rudely blowing off 
the uncombed locks, from the oíd gray head, he wanders on, 
piping now and then a dronish note upon the hollow stem. 

The hapless flower is gone, but when you see the air filled 
with these strange balloons of Nature's make, a living pas- 
senger in each— now rolling lightly on the ground, and now 
borne up again, soaring away, across wide streams, above the 
forest trees, can you help thinking what hosts will turn theñ? 
yellow faces up, nexí spring, on manya spot where Dandelion 
never grew before? What language have these traveling 
germs of life? ís it not mis? "Fill your place, humble 
though it be; the labors oí your summer hours will not b@ 
lost, but borne by men, yes, by the very winds, will infíuence 
many a mind, cause many a distant heart to bless the stran- 
ger, while you obscurely live, obscurely die; butnotignobly. 
Fill your place, then; do not imagine that your infíuence will 
weigh nothing in the scale of the world, but ever remember, 
that the good which you do, will as certainly swell the amount 
of human happiness, and lessen the burden of human misery, 
as flowers will smile and trees rise from us, little wanderers 
upon the wings of the wind !" Long might I tarry as sea- 
sons glide away, and catch such words as these; you can do 
so too, and as they pass swiftly on, leí them be numbered not 
by signs or changing moons, but by the lessons left; then 
should youryears be few, they'll niimoer well ! 

Fall has its scenes of beauty, too, that fill the eoul with 
beauty like their own, Who has not seen them? Go out in 



52 LANGUAGE OF 

the morning, while yet the frost-lace from the loom of Night, 
flung over turf and tree and mossy stone, gleams like silver 
in the soft sunlight; when veils of artful pattern, woven by 
that industriólas oíd hermit, the field spider, are stretched from 
limb to limb, on many a tree and bush; veils inwrought with 
silver threads, and now and then a dewy pearl, curiously set 
in. Go out, when streamers of gossamer float in the still air; 
when chandeliers of crystal ice, (íhe^newest style,)" studded 
with gems of purest water, are pendent from the trees, gleaming 
with violet, green and gold, with brilliant hues, all borrowed 
from the sun ! When the breeze comes up, see, what a shower 
of pearls and light they shed ! To purchase half the gems 
would beggar kings ! This is the yery gala day of Nature, 
who, bridemaid to the waning year, has decked her thua» 
Why should she not? The year will soon be married, "mar- 
ried unto death." 

Who talks of princely pageants that has witnessed aught 
like this? Who boasís to you and me, of being by, when 
queen Victoria donned the ponderous crown? 

Had you gone out in the still hour of night, you would 
have heard from tree to tree, a clear ringing sound, as if the 
fairies fired platoons in mimic fight. Nature was casting 
crystals then, in molds of air ! 

This evening of the year has sunset glories of its own I 

Let him who dwells amid huge piles of brick and stone ; 
whose walks are bounded by the city's bound; who never wan- 
dered forth when "autumn's smile beams through the yellow 
woods," talk of the works of art; of splendid halls, where 
Genius' bright creations almost live and breathe; where 
beetling crags start out at penciPs touch, and make you think, 
in spite of reason, ^'what if they should fall !" where cas- 
cades tumble over rocky cliffs, and dash their mimic sprajj 



INANIMATE NATÜRE. 03. 

and whirl and foam, and — everything but roar; of warm 
Italian skies that seem to breathe their own son gales, all 
glowing on íhe canvas ! He knows not of the gorgeous dyea 
of the deep forest, that Raphael could not paint. His art 
might dash the mimic colors on; it could not makethose col- 
ors fade, and glow, and melt, and blend, each with its síster 
tinge; ñor keep them changing there, through every tint and 
6hade of colored light ! 

Over íhe oíd log-fence thatborders on the wood, the thorny 
barberry's clustering coráis hang. Amid the tangled wild- 
grass of the marsh, that crackles under foot, are strewn the 
bright red cranberries. all candied now with frost. Deep in 
the vale, the dark green cedars malee a gloomy shade, and on 
íhe hills, the fcathery pines are sighing in the wind. Round 
that oíd tree, whose leaning trunk is mirrored in the stream, 
the grape vine clings, and pendent from a limb, its summer's 
growth is swinging to and fro, all ciad in scarlet. 

By the babbimg brook, the willows wave in yellow robes, 
their garb of gray thrown by; the silver of the poplar has 
somehow got a síain. The Sumac,* too, is takingon atinge 
of red to day; to-morrow 'twill be orange; the Maples shine 
in deepest crimson now, and now in brilliant yellow, while 
the kingly Oak, puts ofF his summer dress, for robes of deep, 
rich brown. These are the sunset gloríes of the waning year. 

It would seem, in blending thus her splendors in one gor- 
geous hour, as if she vied with evening's western sky, that 
gathers at its verge, the pearl and gold of morning, noon's ' 
warm and yellow light, its own inimitable hues, emulous to 
prove that saying true, "the last, still loveliest." So will it 
be in life's last going down, when memory's sofí but radiant 



* Pronounced Shumak. 



54 tANGÜAGE OP- 

íight shall shine aslant the hills and vales and plains of other 
days; so will gather then, the privileges high, the hopes, the 
joys, the blessings of the past; so gild a moment, life's even- 
ing sky; then fading, flitting, hide behind the cold, gray cloud 
of night and death ! 

"•The molancholy days are come, the saddest of Iho year." 
The glittering garland with which the foresta were decked, 
''The floating fringe on the Map'e'd crest, 
That rivals the Tulipa orimson vesc ;" 

the willow's narrow leaves, on which the yellow sunlight 
loved tolinger so, have all faded away into the dead-leaf tinge 
of latest autumn. 

Now November's stormy voice is heard, as ii comes sigh- 
ing and moaning through the woods, as if fearful to break the 
frail tenure by which the withered leaves cling to their pa- 
rent boughs; now, in surly mood, whirling hither and 
thither their skeleton-frames, in mockery. 

The democratic blackbirds, a rabble rout, hold a clamor- 
ous council of flight, in some tall elm; beneath, the red-coat- 
ed Oriole, the sparrow with its gray hood, and the chuckle- 
headed Martin, a mof.ley multitude, are perched on stump 
and stone, while a bright-winged Jay, on a rocking bough 
near by, is spokesman; the feathers in his Flighland cap nod 
jantily, as he proceeds; listen to him. From the rustling 
of wings, one would think he had produced quite a sensation; 
he is evidently talking of the "hard times," of frosts and 
chills; he has indeed selected a subject which they can all 
feel. 

Now a suppressed twitter or low chirp seems a cali for the 
question; the burst of Babel-sounds which follow, shows it 
carried by acclamation. Up go the swallows in a cloud; 
away ride the sparrows on the billowy air. The robin andi 



INANIMATE NATTJRE. 55 

his vvife hear the rushing sound of wings, and leave thcir oíd 
hoinestead in the thicket; the quaker-wren, with its little hlue 
feet, peeps out from the hole in the wall, as the frost creeps 
in; too hoo ! too hoo ! resounds from the hollow oak tree, aa 
the monkish owl wraps still closer about his ears, the russeí 
muffler which he always wears, winter and summer. 

"Then tribe after tribe, witli its leader fair, 
Stveeps off, thro' llie fathomless deptlis of air; 
Some spread o'erthe watersa daring uing, 
Inthe isles of the southcrn sea to sing." 

The little hollows are heaped up with the dead leaves; 
they answer to the timid rabbit's tread, as it vainly looks for 
a clover leaf or a blade of green grass; they answer to the 
eddying gust, and the slow footstep of the thoughtful man. 
That hoarse, husky tone ! That low rustle, who has noí 
heard it, andjiearing, been, for the moment, wiser, though 
perhaps sadder? The twilight is gradually settíing into the 
deep darkness of night; night of the year ! Now winter 
flings over the seeming dead, a snowy shroud,' and all is cold 
and desoíate; but theré's life beneaih that robe, which the 
voice of the next years morning will cali forth to light and 
beauty again, when the green forest-tops thrill once more to 
carol and song, and the gushing rills dance again to a tune 
of their own. Who, with winter's language sounding in his 
ear, thinks death a sleep thatknows no waking? 

Then amid the mountains of the snowy north, there is mu- 
sió; solemnstrains,benttingNature's melancholy mood. The 
needle-shaped foliage of the pines, presents a thousand living 
harp-strings, to every breeze and gust of the stormy time; 
Buch music has the evening of the year. 

Of sueh a scene, the ploughman-poet, Burns, once said : — 
u ThÍ3 is my best season for devotion; my mind is wrapped 



5G LANGUAGE OF 

up in a kind of enthasiasm to Him, <who walks on the wings 

of the wind.' " 

"Still sing- tho God of Seasons, as thcyroll. 
For me, wlicn I forgetthe darling tlicme, 
Whclliur the blossom blows, the summerray 
Russets tho plain, inspiring Aulurnn gleams, 
Or Wintcr riseein the blackcning east, 
Be my tonguc rtiute, my Fancy paint no more, 
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to bcat I" 



CHAPTER VIL 

God talks wiih man through nature — The convenient "ü" — The 
eye — The two worlds — What anidea is — What thouglitis — 
Man a social béing — Language the link — The hrute creaiion. 

Thus reader, wo have learned a few of the lessons which 
this beautiful world gives out. Sehool-mates together, pupib 
of Nature, we have listened together to her voice, and togeth- 
er gazed upon the Deity-penned page; but v/hile we do so no 
more, in company, let me remind you, that though we have 
ceased to listen, Nature has not ceased to teaclt; that every 
ray of light, as it meéis the eye, every wave of air, as it dash- 
es against the ear-drurn, brings some new lesson to the 
thoughtfuL mind. 

The flower of the valley and the central sun; the beating 
heai't and the babbling brook; the morning song and the mid- 
night hush^ the comet's glare and the snow-drop's ray, all, 



1NANIMATE NATURE. 57 

ochave language. Spring whispers of life, as she wreathea 
the earth with a garland, and Autumn sings a song ; 
"Let us never forget to our dying day, 

The tone or the burclen of her lay, 

'Passing away ! passing away'!'" 
"Tlie poor Indian, whose untutored mind 
Sees God iñ clouds, and hears Him in fie wind;" 

the Indian, his eradle a canoe, his nurse the restless waíers, 
the winds and waving woods his lullaby; from infaney to age, 
companion, lover, child of Nature, he needs not the conveni- 
ent "it," of civilized and (christian?) life; with him, it neyer 
rains, it never thunders, but the GreatSpirit, He 

''Whose body nature is — God the soul!" 

He it is, who talks with man, in brooks and winds and 
fiowers; "He glows in the stars and blossoms in the trees; 5 ' 

the thunder is His still, small voice;" the cataract, 

"a light wave, 
That breaks, and whispers of its Maker'e migiit!" 

Nature then, is God's own book, and Nature'á langtjage, 
His. 

The eyes of the poor lad seeking for tortoise-eggs, sparkle 
with joy, if after many efforts^ he can thrust his little hand 
so far into the sand, as only to reach o?ie, for he knows that 
the contents of the nest will follow, like beads upon a string. 
It is so in the acquisition of knowledge. The great Author 
and source of science never constituted a hermit-truth, any 
inore than He created a flower, a man, or a world, without 
relations and dependencies. Every truth, évery fact, is al- 
ways connected with some other truth, some other fact, and 
the business of life, is not to forge the chain or v/eld the links, 
bait simply to draw up<m it. 



58 LANGUAGE OP 

Novv in the view which has been taken of Inanimate Na- 
ture, I liave only put into your hand a link or two, of the 
mighty ehain, nothing more; and in committing it to your 
charge, just let me bid you in sailor's phrase, "Pulí away ! 
Pulí away!" 

How inimitable is the eye ! How exquisite its sense ! 
Within those wondrous crystal walls, far back, a magic cur- 
tain* hangs, of wondrous texture — suspended there by God ! 
No odor ever entera there ; if so, not half so wonderful its 
power ; for we can see the flower as day by day it wastes 
away in floating fragrance. That is a silent hall; no sound 
is there; then were the mystery less; for one can feel the 
blown flute thrill with music, the organ t-remble with its own 
deep tones, and see the struck bell quiver. Not so with light; 
speeding with more than arrow's flight, it ripples not the air; 
it pierces glass, yet leaves no trace behind; still flying on, it 
seeks the eye, that earthly dome where it delights to 
dwell; the opening portal bids it in; the glowing canvas wel- 
comes its approach ! 

You look up, and the broad, blue sky with its bright host, 
is mirrored there; the evening clouds go by, like ships at sea, 
and they are pictured there, and sailing still, and yet they 
never near the curtain's edge ! The green valley, the dim 
mountain, the waving woods ai*e there, green and dim and 
waving still ! From deepest red to faintest violet, no ray 
this subtile shadow iiings, is lost. The speaking countenance 
of a friend — the smile, the thought-light, the care-cloud flit- 
ting over, are painted there, smiling and flitting too ! 

Such is the organ of sight; were the sensible images of 
which I have been speaking, the only images; were there no 
connection between the material without and the immaterial 



*Tke retina, an expansión, of the optic nervc* 



INANIMATE NATURE. 59 

within; had mind no existence, and thought no world of its 
own, still we should ever admire the mirror-eye as a speci- 
men of inimitable skill, and the mirrored world as surpas- 
singly beautiful; but reader, there are other images, there 
¿s a mind, and such a world, and such a eonnection. 

Suppose that the countenance of that dear friend, which 
was so accurately pictured upon the retina of your eye, 
•'should be changed," as yours and mine will be, and he 
borne away. The faithful copy would be no longer there; 
Dther forms would occupy the curtain that he had so often 
filled; but could you not see him yet ? Cióse your eyes; the 
face — the mouth — the smooth brow — the hair, — so very like! 
the smile, just as ever ! Yes, the voice too, as he calis youx 
hame. There he stands before you, as clearly seen as 
when health mantled his cheek and thought lighted his eye ! 
Years glide away, but when you will, the dead is with you. 

Ah ! This is that other image ! No longer sensible and 
material, it has become a mental and immaterial idea* now; 
a mere sensation upon the eye at first; next, mind perceived 
and stamped it as its own; then memory seized and fixed it 
there, and now by recollection you can bring it up and see 
it still ! 'Tis thus the mind is peopled from without; thus 
they come thronging in, that make the inner world; thus eye 
and ear are antechambers to the mind, where these sensa- 
tions come, but wait not long, but quick perceived, become 
the property of mind — your own. 

What treasures such as these can youth acquire, and then 
when age comes on, when eyes are dimmed and ears grow 
dull, the winter hours of life will sweetly pass, in working 
up the harvest that you gathered in; you coin them, then, 



te An idea is an image; gcnerally applied to images of the mind. 



60 LANGUAGE OF 

anew; you put your image on them, and your ñame; yoü 
shape them in new forms of beauty; analyze, compare. This, 
this is thinking. Then when you send them forth, they are 
your own, and there is a pleasure in such a thought. 

What a world of ideas should a person acquire during a 
single year; what vast material for thought ! You perceive 
that ideas and actual thinking are entirely distinct; as much 
so, as the rough trunk of mahogany, and the skill which is em- 
píoyed and increased in fashioning the stubborn wood intothe 
elegantly carved and polished sofá. Dr. Webster's diction- 
ary contains a vast number of ideas or their representatives, 
but who ever imagines, for a moment that it is a thinking being? 
Then there is another thing: in the exercise of your mental 
powers, you are constantly strengthening and developing 
them; every effort which you make adds to your ability, and 
I never heard of a sane man who lived so long that there was 
no farther improvemeñt to be made, no new ideas to be ac- 
quired. Every individual possesses, or sJwuId¡possess, a trea- 
sure of his own, whose valué he is constantly increasing, ei- 
ther by refining what is already amassed, or by accumula- 
ting. The wisest man in our world, would make but a poor 
figure, if, relying upon his own resources, he should cast off 
the social bond. A common interest unites men in neigh- 
borhoods and nations; a oonsciousness of individual ignorance 
and weakness cements that bond; every person, no matter 
how humble the sphere may be, in which he moves, contrib- 
utes something to the common treasure; and thus, though no 
síockholder in this mental bank could succeed alone, yet by 
uniting, all may pass along through life, if not without difB- 
culty and danger, at least, in some degree, prepared to averi 
the one and obvíate the other; and this is effeeted by the in>. 
terchange of thought. 



INANIMATE NATURE. 61 

How can this desirable end be attained ? That internal 
World of yours, is concealed from my gaze, locked in the hid- 
den recesses of your own bosom. The key ! the key ! What 
power can throw open the portáis of this new creation? 
Doubtless 3^ou have anticipated the reply; language is this 
mental key. Whatever thing extrinsic, can impress the sen- 
ses of an anímate being, is language. 

How important then, is the relation which language sustains, 
to the welfare and happiness, not of man only, but of a large 
portion of the animal creation; for who can doubt that many 
of the inferior animáis are susceptible of ideas; that they do 
receive them day by day; that they are somehow rétame d in 
the animal life or spirit, or by whatever term you may please 
to desígnate it; that at a subsequent period they are recalled 
or come unbidden, no matter which; that they are communi- 
cated to their companions by gesture or sound, and that these* 
Communications are evidently understood and answered ? 

No one who has merely casi a glance now and then, at the 
dog or the chickens, can for a moment question the existence 
of these facts; nevertheless it may appear strange, to you, 
that I speak of the language of brutes, yes of the very insects; 
but it would be a matter of surprise to me, ifj while I am in- 
troducing facts that may serve to elucídate this truth, you 
yourself could not adduce others within your own observa- 
tion, which would be equally apposite and conclusive. 

How new and noble the aspect which animated nature 
would then present; a talking multitude of happy beings, a 
world of mutual intelligence ! And though, only an occas- 
ional passage in these diversified dialects would be intelligi- 
ble, yet to the thoughtful mind, it -would open a glorious field 
for long and delightful contemplation. Then, were our sen- 
ses more acute, and our knowledge of the works of Deity 



62 LANGUAGE OF IN ANÍMATE NATÜRE. 

more extensive, we should never malee the complaint so often 
uttered, "I feellondy," but "at the farthest verge of thegreen 
earth," we should be constantly engaged in succouring those 
whose little organs proel aimed them in distress; in rejoicing 
with the creature that hums his pleasures, and in listening to 
the thoughts (if thoughts |_they have) of the inferior animáis, 
as they chirp, warble or tiek them forth. 

Then the desert and the solitary place would be transform- 
ed into the resort of thronging thousands, and rendered vocal 
with "a boundless song." 

From the bee that beats his reveille* within the spacious 
cup (befitting orchestref ) of the dew-gem'd Hollyhock, to the 
hollow roar of the lion, . as it reverberates along the arid 
plains_of his native wilds; throughout the whole diapasón:}: of 
the anímate creation, the devout listener would hear one uni- 
versal hymn to the great source of light and life. How 
beautifully true are the words of the poet : 

"The loneiiest path, by mortal seldorn trod, 
The crovvded city, all is full of God !" 






* The beat of drum at daybreak; pronounced re-vel-ya. 
+ Place appropriated lo musicians . 
i That which includes all the tones. 



PART SECÓN D. 

INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE AND REASON. 



CHAPTER I. 

What we owe to Natare-^Brides have language — Brutes have 
ideas — What tliey woald be wiíliout language — The scale of 
being—Instinct in the vegetable world — Instinct and intelK- 
gence in the animal kingdom — Illustrations. 



Yon have been, like Mrs, Hemans' Edith, 

"A watcher of the clouds and of thestars, , 

Beneatli the adoring silence of the night ; 

And a glad vvanderer with thehappy streams, 

Whose laughter filis the mountains !" 
and if, like her, you are ready to exelaim, "Oh ! to hear their 
blessed sounds again !" then am I quite repaid for all my 
toil. Many a thought that steals into the mínd, as if some 
shadowy beíng had whispered soft and low into the ear, is of 
Nature's own bestowing; but shall we linger longer here, or 
turning to the anímate world, contémplate language as em- 
ployed by birds, beasts and insects, in communicating their 
ideas to one another? Have they language, too? Yes, read- 
er, even brides have language; abandon the notion, ií you 
entertain ít, that the varied voices from the field anci the for- 
est, the carol of joy, the cry of fear, the cali of love, or the 
discordant tones of anger, are an idle, unmeaning jargon, the 
mere clank of engines; reject as equally unfounded, the 



64 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

opinión which is frequently expressed, that animáis are ma 
chines, musical instruments, if you please, whence these 
sounds are elicited by some external skill, while they them- 
selves, like the flute are unconscious of the music thus pro- 
duced. Discard them both; they are unworthy of you. 

There is nothing in the physical structure of many indivi- 
duáis in the brute creation, which presents the slightest ob- 
jection to their having ideas, but on the contrary, much to 
confirm such an opinión; there is nothing in the relations 
which they sustain to each oíher, or the world around them, 
which precludes the exercise of thought, or something verily 
like it; of reason, or something which closely resembles it; 
but on the contrary, much that renders such capabilities highly 
necessary to their happiness, if not absolutely essential to 
their continued existence. 

Entertaining suchyiews, I do not however, attribute to the dog 
orthe insect, a human mind, but a írute intelligence, and the 
difference between these is as strongly marked, as the differ- 
ence between the animáis themselves; as distinct as the sphere 
of a dog is from that of a man, or as the ends which they are 
respectively designed to compass; as distinct, as a being, to 
whose susceptibility of improvement, we know no limit, and 
an existence, upon which the sentence is pronounced: "hitherto 
shalt thou come, and|no faríher;" as distinct as o, mind, whose 
duration, at whatever period in its existence you contémplate 
it, is yet, almost all in the future, and a p&wer of knoioing, 
which will perish with the physical frame, for whose guidance 
merely, it was created. 

No, that being, into whose nostrils <God breathed the breath 
of life, and he became a ¡iving soul,' must be foi'ever distin- 
guished from his fellov/ íenants of the earth, both by creation 
and by destiny. The brute creation are exactly átted, in 






AND REAS0N. 65 

every respect, for their stations, and it is as illogical to con- 
clude, that, because they have ideas, and something like 
thought and something like reflection, they must have human 
minds, as it would be to infer, that, as man is possessed of an 
immortal spirit, he must have an angelic one. Upon the 
ground of adaptation then, I might safely base this view, 
without entertaining any apprehension, even the slightest, 
that you will so grossly mistake me, when I talk of a think- 
ing or a reasoning brute, as to suppose that I mean human 
thought or human reason, when I only refer to that, whatever 
it may be, which corresponds to these powers in the human 
mind, and whicb, as I have befo re remarked, differ precisely 
as the beings that possess them. 

From these susceptibilities and powers, springs the neces- 
sity for language among t brutes; a] necessity equally per- 
emptory with that which renders it so indispensable to the 
happiness of man, and of which, if you deprive him, from a 
social, he would be transformed into a solitary being; as he 
would know nothing of the sufferings or pleasures of others, 
so he would be a stranger to sympathy; all the better feelings 
of his nature would lie dormant, and he would wander about, 
the unconscious, miserable possessor of a world of happiness, 
which language only, could reveal. 

Deprive brutes of language, and the consequences would 
be no less disastrous to them, no less fatal to their well-being. 

Entertaining the opinions which I have expressed, 
when you listen to the bird on the bough and the bird iñ 
the bush, uttering their notes of joy; when the Bobilink rings 
a merry peal from the meadow, and the cricket's "cree-cree, 
eree-cree," issues from the grass, as if they were vying with 
one another, which should express most, of the joy of its lit- 
tle heart, and then, all at once, birds and inseets burst fotfh 



66 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

together; when the faithful dog meets you at the gate, "with 
bark and boundj" when the cat rubs backward and forward 
againstyour foot, purring all the while, her pleasure; when, 
the day's perils escaped, the day's wanderings done, you hear 
the happy home-note of the chickens, as they gather cióse 
undel* the brooding wing; when you hear the lambs of the 
folded flock, bleat now and then, as if in some happy dream; 
when even the swine salutes you with a complacent "ough," 
from his bed'of straw, how can you help exclaiming, "what 
a happy world this is, after all !" 

Turning from the vegetable world, we are about to con- 
témplate animated nature, opening up a new, and if possible, 
nobler field for admiration; in brillianey of plumage, in sym- 
metry of form, in elegance of mov.ement, in nobleness of 
mien, in power of voice, and in melody of song. The lan- 
guage of the flowers was a hvely language, but it was not 
their oion; they were, as if so many fair characters which God 
had traced, and of which He gives a new and beautiful edi- 
tion each returning year. But animáis have a language of 
their own; now elevated with joy, now tremulous with sorrow, 
now tuned by care; a language, that, more faithful than the 
painter's canvas, takes on every shade of thought, every 
tinge of emotion, and the deep, live coloring of passion. 

The questions may arise in your mind, "what belongs pe- 
culiarly to the anímate world, whence springs the necessity 
for a médium of communication? Is it a dhTerence in the 
nature of the living principie, or is it, that they possess the 
power of locomotion?" To these inquines, I answer in the 
negative. The principie of life, so far as we are able to com- 
prehend it, is the same in the vegetable, that it is in the ani- 
mal kingdom. In the one, we have the coral and the sponge 
attached to rocks.; in the other, the Gulf-weed and the Tape- 



AND REASON. 67 

grass sailing from ishore to shore, wafted by winds and waves, 
In the one, we see the hydra or the leech propagated by slipíj 
or cuttings; in the other, we observe the russet grafted upon 
the greening, and the peach and the quince deriving their 
nourisliment from the same root. In the one, the pigeon flies 
from clime to clime, and the herrín g swims from the Arctic 
ocean to the line; in the other, the strawberry travels from 
field to field. In the one, we see the beaver, now felling tim- 
ber upon the land, and now catching fish in the water; in the 
other, we behold the rush flourishing in the swamp, or thriv- 
ing upon the hill. In the one, the blood rolls its tide of life 
through the veins; in the other, the sap courses to every 
slender twig and swelling bud. Impede the circulation in the 
one, and life is destroyed; girdle the tallest oak in the other, 
and it withers and dies. Air is essential to life in the one, so it 
is in the other. It is not here, then, that we are to look for 
that peculiarity, which renders language necessary to the 
brute as a social being; if it cannot be found, my labor i3 
more than half done; if it is all an idle fancy, and brutea 
possess nothing upon which to predicate language, then it 
were better, omitting the second part of this little book, to 
pass^on directly to the third. But let us linger here, and 
determine, if we can, what this peculiarity is; Linnosus, the 
eminent naturalist, in classifying the works of nature, re- 
marked, "stones gro;v, vegetables grow and live, animáis 
grow, live and feel." However correct this may be, it isnot 
suffieiently definite for my present purpose; and in proposing 
another view, allow me to direct your attention to a fact oí 
two. Deprive a man of his eyes or ampútate his limbs, and 
you take from him the power of seeing or of walking; so, if 
you deprive a: living being of the nerves or the brain, as the 
former are the organs of sensation, and the l&tter is the seaí 



G8 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

of intelligence, we may safely infer, that with the one or the 
other, the corresponding power of knowing or feeling, is gonc 
also. When you pluck a rose from its stem, you do not im- 
agine that it suffers pain from the disrupture; how can it? 
Vegetables are destitute of nerves; but wound a bird and you 
see its little frame writhe with anguish; the bird possesses the 
organs of sensation. We never attribute to the lowest order 
of animáis anything like intelligence, v/hile it is with an ill 
nrace,that we can deny its possession to the elephant, the dog, 
or the horse; these animáis have a cerebral organization, or 
a brain. 

Something called instinct characterizes every living thing; 
sensation distinguishes the animal from the vegetable; intel- 
ligence distinguishes some animáis from others; and the pos- 
session of all these, with reason and a living soul, renders 
man what be is — lord of this lower world, and "the nobleat 
work of God." 

Vegetables have instinct; 

Ncrvous* Animáis have instinct and sensation; 

Cerebral^ animáis have instinct, sensation and intelligence: 

Man possesses instinct, sensation, intelligence, reason, and 

a LIVING SO¥L. 

Thus having placed distinctly before you, the classification 
which I have made, let us examine the nature of instinct, and 
learnhow far the actions ofthe brute creation are attribulable 
fo its promptings; then determine the extent of intelligence 
in animáis, after which we can confidently talk of an íntelli- 
gible language among brutes. First, then, I will speak of 
instinct. 

When corn is planted in the field, or seeds sown in the gar- 



Haying nerves. + Thope animáis possessing a brain. 



AND EEASON. 69 

den, how do you know that the latter will not spring up in 
íhe path, or that the former, making a subterranean journey, 
will not appear in an adjoining field, to bless the wondering 
eyes of some indolent neighbor? Indeed, what assurance 
have you, that they will come up at all? You answer, Cí ob- 
servation teaches;" but did you ever think wliy this is so? 
Did it never occur to you as something strange, that among 
the numberless seeds, that each returning year calis forth to 
life, one should not, now and then, send its fibrous roots into 
the air, while the branches should be groping their gloomy 
way down into the earth? Why should there not? Within 
the tiniest seed's thin shell, the radíele and plume, twin mes- 
sengers of life, lie cradled now; the former bursts its prison 
first, and travels down in quest of moisture and a fastening 
íbr the future plant; the latter, upward boünd, seeks air and 
light. 

There is the Dionsea muscipula, or Venus' fly-trap, that 
terror of the inseet tribe. Each leaf is furnished with a 




pairof jaws, invitingly extended, and baited too, withaliquid 
which attracts the unwary wanderer, but no sooner than he 
alights, it closes with a spring, and the hapless fly becomes a 
prisoner for life; the relentless leaf never opening, till the 
yictim ceasing to struggle, expires. True, we are ignorant 



70 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

of the precise manner in which the plant is benefited by 
these captures; but as animal life is frequently sustained by 
the destruction of vegetables, we do not question, that, in thi» 
iustance, at least, the favor is reciprocated. 

The potato, that lies forgotten among the rubbish of an oíd 
box in the cellar, sends out its palé, slender vine, that clings 
upon the unplaned boards that compose its prison, till it finds 
a fissurs; emerging thence, it creeps slowly away towards 
that distant window, that veiled with cobwebs and dimmed 
with the splashing of the last shower, admits a feeble ray 
through its half-transparent panes. Did you ever think what 
guided it on its mysterious way ? Yes, you knew it was 
creeping after light. Its clear, waxen stem betokens the ab- 
sence of the "father of colors," and light it must have; you 
saw, how as it basked beneath that glimmering beam, each 
raveled leaf took on a tinge of green. 

By the way, reader, what a language does that plant speak 
to you and me ! ' Like it, we are living beings and prisoners 
of hope; like it, we are enveloped in darkness; a light has 
shone upon us too, and we see it through "a glass darkly;'"' 
like it, how should we "emerge from the gloom, and follow 
after the benign ray, that flings its softened lustre in, upon 
this depraved world ! To return, what was it, but a principie 
of life that impelled the plant, thus to seek that which was 
cssential to its health, if not to its existence, and what is this 
principie but instinct? 

Plant a strawberry vine in the sand, and will it remain 
there to wither and die ? Examine it after a few days, and 
you will find its little runners traveling ofF, in the direction 
of the nearest soil proper for its nourishments. The tree re- 
moved from its native swamp to the parched upland, will not 
yield its life without an eífort; with no guide but that Being 



AND HEAS0N. 71 

who spoke it into existence, filled it with life and clothed it 
with beauty, its roots, faithful totheir trust, amid the darkness 
of their prison, will send out a thousand fibres towards the 
neighboring rivulet or sprmg. Set a root of the Orchis in 
your garden and mark the spot. Let a few year» elapse be- 
fore you seek it, and you will find that the strange thing has 
played you false; no vestige of it can be discovered, but 
clamber over your neighbor's fence, travel a quarter of a 
mile, and you may chance to find the truant flourishing in 
• the soil of a new possessor. It liad made a toilsome journey 
hither, all for its little life, abandoning the oíd and withered 
root from time to time, it had bundled oíf to a new and vigor- 
ous one, springing up beside the oíd habitation; li'ke a tenant 
who resides, now in this dvvelling, now in that, leaving each 
as the decaying timbers and broken roof, threaten to tumblc 
upon his head J 

The bulbous root is peculiarly adapted to resist the effects 
of drought; transplant such a root to some moist spot, and 
instead of remaining round and plump as a London alder- 
man, it will become lean, lank and long as a half-starved 
friar; but never fear; it is not about to die. As in a dry soil, 
to the bulbous root, the plant owes its preservation, so in a 
marsh, the same formation would prove its sure destruction, 
actually drowning it; and/for this reason, the root instinctively 
elongates, becomes fibrous, adapts itself to the new situation, 
and lives on, verdant as ever. 

The wood-sorrel that folds its leaves from the coming storm; 
the yellow flowers that look cheerfully forth upon the rising 
sun, turn to the south at noon, and catch thelast beams of the 
closing day; the sensitive fern that shrinks from the approach- 
ing hand; the Evening Primrose, whose little signal gun an- 
nourices the approach of night, as one by one, its palé flower* 



72 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

fly open to receive the falling dew; the water-lily that con- 
traéis its leaves, as it rests gently upon the crystal couch; 
the lazy Goatsbeard, that shuts its eyes at noon, as if to sleep, 
and the chickweed, that wraps the virgin flower in its green 
mantle, reminding you to make the umbrella your companion 
for that day, are all directed by instinct, that principie, 
which, however varied the acts to* which it impels, is admira- 
bly calculated to preserve life in the vegetable worid. Take 
away this instinct, and the day which dawned upon a thou- 
sand forms of almost breathing beauty, looking forth from 
hill-top and vale, would cióse upon a*rnournful scene of deso- 
lation and death. 

Let us now observe the action of instinct in the animal 
world. -I recollect, when a boy, of spying a robin's nest in 
an oíd apple tree. With much scrambling and kicking, I 
succeeded in getting a foothold on some of the spreading 
boughs, and eagerly reached up, to take a peep at the interior 
of the nest. At the irñminent hazard of life or limb, so much 
was I taken by surprise, four young robins, opened íheir bilis 
all together, and developing their capacious yellow throats, 
set up a chorus that first startled, then astounded me. Just 
at this instant, the alarm-note of the oíd robin, sounding loud 
and olear, cióse by me, aclcled not a little to my fear, and 
trembling in every joint, i heáríily wished myself out of the 
predatory excursión, and safe at home. The little family 
had but just escaped from the shell, and this movement was 
one of the first acts of life; without instruction or experience, 
and doubíless without a knowledge of the cause or the result, 
they placed themselves in the only position in which they 
could possibly receive nourishrnent from the parent. This 
act was an instinctive one; of the same nature with that per- 
formed by the Geranium that turns its leaves towards the un- 






AND REAS0N. 73 

eurtained window, or by the root that seeks its proper soil; of 
the same nature with that put forth by the infant, which 
throws out its little hands, when in danger of falling from the 
arms of a careless nurse; an act which is prompted by no 
apprehension of danger, no knowledge of any means by which 
it might be averted. In the three instances mentioned, the 
act is essentially the same; equally unintelligent, and alike 
calculated to preserve the iife, and health of the individual. 



CHAPTER II. 



The duele — Co?npIex nature of sucking, sioallowing and respira- 
tion — Definition of instinct — not sentient — not intelligent — 
Examples — The office of inielligence — its relation to instinct — 
Feto animáis destroy Ufe wantonly — The skillof birds in nid- 
ification — Color of the eggs — Individual and generic instinets. 

The patient hen sets for weeks upon duck's eggs, uncon- 
scious of the anxiety which her perverse brood will occasion; 
the little web-feet come forth and waddle away to the nearest 
pool with all possible dispatch. The foster-mother, with 
drooping wings, runs hither and thither upon the bank, cluck- 
ing her mingled notes of love and fear; but the heedless ob- 
jeets of her solicitude, diving and paddling about with notable 
zeal, pay not the slightest attention to her exhortations and 
eíitreaties. Fitted by nature for a sea-faring life, instinct di- 
reets them to their native element, and by instinct they swim. 
Of precisely the same nature, is the act of sucking andswal- 
F 



74 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

lowing, so readily performed by the new-born infant; indeed, 
evincing a skill, that all the experience of subsequent life, 
could not increase, or even attaih; a process which calis into 
action, thirty pairs of muscles at every draught. In this 
connection, I will mention respiration or breathing, also; 
what instructor could initiate the aptest pupilinto the myster)"» 
so that Jie could bring into operatíon all the muscles necessa- 
ry to this process, but that great Teacher, who, as He has 
bestowed upon organized bodies the boon of life, has also 
given them instinct for its preservatíon ? 

Numerous examples might be introduced, to illustrate still 
farther, the universality of instinct, as possessed by all living 
things, and its uniformity, as ever acting for good. But they 
are above, beneath and on every side of you; and to him. 
who studies the works of nature, anímate or inanimate, they 
will constantly present themselves, extorting, even írom the 
unwilling heart, an acknowledgement of the unbounded be- 
nevolence of that Being, by whom the worlds vvere made* 

Instinct, then, is "the operation of the principie of organized 
life, by the exercise of certain natural powers, directed to 
the present good or future welfare of the individual." Where 
life is, theré is instinct; within the secret chamber of the 
buried seed, it fans the slumbering spark into a flame; it 
guides unerríngly the descending root, and accompanies 
the ascending stem; ít folds the tender leaf from the frosty 
night; it opens the painted flovver to the genial ray, and when 
the chill winds whistle around the shivering tree, it is there 
still ! 

Instinct is neither sentient ñor intelligent; were it the lat- 
ter, it might profit by experience; if the former, it might 
writhe with pain; but plants possess neither sensation ñor 
knowledge, and yet plants have instinct; perfect at first, it is 



AND REASON. 75 

not susceptible of improvement; unerring in its nalure, where- 
rer SBen, you are compelled to exclaim with the poet, 

"And Reason raise o'er instinct as you can, 
In this 'lis God directs, in that 'lis man." 

Finally — contemplating instinct in connection with intelli- 
gence and reason, you will observe that it is a natural power, 
fully developed at first, while the two latter are yet feeble, 
requiring time and cultivation, to arrive at maturity, so that the 
young of very many animáis must perish, without the aid of 
instinct; henee the providence of the bee, the secretions in the 
udder of the cow, and the breastsof the mother, and the hunt- 
ing excursions of the parent bird. Even then, all these 
promptings of instinct or affection vvould be unavailing, did 
not the caíf instinctively suck, the bird gape and the insect 
devour. In this view, the peculiar office of instinct is an- 
íecedent to that, either of intelligence or reason; it filis, as if 
the place of a guardián to the new-bom creature, while the 
latter, as rainors, are unable to act for themselves. Henee 
it follows, that though instinct continúes to exercise its func- 
tions during the whole life of the brute or the man, yet it 
never diseharges a d'úty which intelligence or reason is capa- 
citated to perform. Thus the infantthrows out its arms when 
faJling; the man makes precisely the same movement when in 
similar circumsíances; but so far from its being puré instinct, 
then, this essential difference is obvious; the man both appre- 
hends the danger, and intelligently adopts this expedient to 
avert it. Here instinct may be said to act in concert with in- 
telligence, for the accomplishment of the same object. 

Inthe view which I have givenof the subject, you caneasi- 
iy distinguish between the impulsión of instinct and the ope- 
ratión of intelligence; the former may act alone as well as 
the latter; the one executes what the other whispers as neces- 



76 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

sary, but in no instance are they so combined in their action, 
as to exhibit a modification of either. Thus instinct teacbes 
us that the physical system requires food, and we intelligently 
cast about to procure it; we lay plans; we labor assiduously, 
but we do it all intelligently. Instinct induces birds to con- 
tinué their species, and impresses the necessity of a habita- 
tion, but intelligence is employed in the actual construction 
of their curious homes; in selecting materials; in adapting 
its form to circumstances. Break one of the twigs that- sup- 
port the half-built nest, and the cunning architects will bind 
it more securely, to those which remain. Deprive them of 
down, and they levy upon your cotton; rob them of hair, but 
take care of your silk ! Remove the bird from a tropical to a 
températe climate; instinct impels it to the preservation of 
life, but intelligence lines the nest wit.b another layer of down, 
and adds another inch to its depth. 

Few are the animáis, save man, that wantonly deslroy the 
life and happiness of their fellows. True, the,eagle pounces 
upon the serpent, and bears it away in its talons; the wily 
snake springs upon the sparrow in the hedge; the sparrow 
devours the insect or the worm; but they all act in obedience 
to the law of instinct, which whispers, "life, life !" The 
scale of being is accurately balanced; the eagle rears its 
solitary or twin young; the snake has a more numerous pro- 
geny; the sparrow brings up quite a family, while the insect 
produces. myriads at a birth. Turn where you will, the pro. 
portion is accurately adj usted. 

Instinct impels, not merely to the welfare of the individual, 
but to the preservation of the race. Henee, though the eagle 
may destroy its companion, it is not necessarily an instinctive 
act; famine may compel the ship-wrecked mariners to cast 
lots for a sacrifice, to the common life; here is the triumph of 



AND REASON. 77 

the individual over the generic instinct; but still, how mighty 
the struggle; with what horror and loathing, do the miserable 
men feed upon the flesh of their fellow ! Why? For no 
other í'eason, than that the generic instinct rebels. The fact 
that some tribes are cannibals, has no bearing upon this prin- 
cipie, for human nature may become so lost to every monition 
of instinct, every feeling of affeetion, that the mother will 
forget even her own child. 

The peculiar skill manifested by the bird or the beast ín 
the construction of its lair or its nest is in exact proportion to 
the liability and danger of detection, and the ability of the 
owner to protect it. Thus the eggs of the Kingfisher and 
Woodpecker are _ of a brilliant white, and therefore are 
concealed in holes, as they would otherwise be inevitably dis- 
covered and devoured by some hungry bird or prowling quad- 
ruped. The swallows and wrens lay eggs of the same 
treacherous color, but so small are the apertures to their nests, 
íhat an enemy must be extrernely impudent to approach so 
near as to catch a glimpse of them. The eggs of the pigeon 
and petrel are also white, but are seldom left, while others 
are carefully covered and watched. The sparrow, less cau- 
tious, deposites its palé, green eggs in the grass or reeds, but 
many a prying boy in vain has looked in the very bush whích 
contains them. The dappled, gray eggs of the lark, the quail 
and the thrush, resemble so nearly, the materíals of the nests 
and the surrounding stubble, in color, that they frequently 
escape the eye, although it actually rests upon them, while 
the eagle that fears naught from its vvínged fellows; that 
shrinksnot from a conflict with a wild-cator a man, fearlessly 
deposites its eggs upon a platform of dry limbs, built upon 
the rocky cliff. 

Jt is unnecessary to multiply examples upon this point, for 



78 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

a little observation will teach you that the position, the form, 
and the general construction of the nests of birds is determin- 
ed by the color of the eggs as brighter, or fainter, and the 
habits and number of those animáis, whose individual instinc^ 
they have the greatest reason to fear; I do not say the 
habits or number of their enemies. You are not to sup- 
pose that in the construction of their curious hornea, birds are 
guided altogether by intelligence, but that instinct acts in 
concert with its more accomplished sister, for the promotion 
of the same object; viz : the well-being of the" 1 creature, 
Their offices may perhaps be expressed in the following 
manner : without instinct, the nest would never be begun; 
without intelligence, it would never be completed; without 
instinct, the parent bird would not brood many a long day 
and gloomy night» famished and weary, over the eggs; with- 
out intelligence and affection, it would have neither the dispo- 
sition ñor the ability, to supply the wants of its helpless 
progeny. 



' 



CHA.PTER III. 



Arcláteciural skill of birds — Weavers, masons and baskei-nia- 
kers — Hindostán Swallow — Tailor-hird's nest — Bdltimore 
Starling — Martin — Hint to the hypercritical — The Exeter 
'Change Elephant — The Turkish toasp — Bushy Park — The 
canine race — Reasoning of adog — •Ulysses 7 dog — Thesqwr- 
reí turned sailor. 

Who ever thinks of the architectural skill of certain birds 
and quadrupeds, without commingled emotions of wonder 
and admiration? Of that little eastern bird, which, to do it 



AND EEASON. 



justice, would prove no mean competitor, with the acknowl- 
edged "knights of the thimble." For a needle, it only has its 
bilí; for thread, fine fibresof wood; with these it constructs a 
fragüe nest, by sewing to a living leaf pendent from the bough, 
another, which it had plucked for the purpose, thus making a 
curious little berth, which, lined with gossamer and down, 
rocks in the breeze, and dances in the blast, a eradle and a 
dwelling. 

The annexed figure will give 
you a correct idea of the Tailor- 
bird's nest. With what compla- 
ceney the callow inmates look out 
upon the great world, as they 
rock all day. 

The tailor is not the only mé- 
chame among the feathered race; 
there are masons, and weavers, 
basket-makers, miners and carpen- 
ters. Among the last mentioned ar- 
tisans, the ivory-billed woodpecker 
seems to be the very prince. The 
silent swam'ps of the Carolinas 
echo with oft-repeated strokes as of 
some distant woodsman; you look 
around for the cause, but no living 
being is in sight, save the squirrel 
that eyes you saucily for a moment, 
from a log near by, and is gone. 
Still you hear it; that same, incessant tap, and, at length, 
looking up, you discover, high on the trunk of a solid Cypress, 
the gaily plumed carpenter, excavating a winding cell, the 
destined birth-place of a race of carpenters, if the stealthy 
black snake, or inquisitive pine Martin, does not blight their 




80 1NSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

prospects, by making a breakfast of them some morning, 
while half-fledged truants from the nest. 

The bank Swallow, with his chubby head, is a great miner. 
When you are passing the shelving banks of streams, or a 
road cut through small hills, this little bird will frequently 
salute you with his twitter, which resembles the noise of a 
cork turned in a bottle; now darting toward you so directly, 
that you are inclined to shield your eyes with your hand, and 
now in his zigzag flight, turning as swiftly away, with a 
suppressed "to weet, to weet," as if he had mistaken you for 
an acquaintance. He is amusing himself after a day of 
toil, and though rather amiable in his disposition, he makes 
sad havoc among the little winged tribes that sport for an hour, 
in the warm sun-beam; perhaps that note of his, "to weet," 
may be peculiarly significant of the amusement. 

See that sand bank. Why, it is full of holes, made by 
these industrious little creatures. I declare, there is one at 
work this moment! How busily he plies his little bilí; now 
sidewise, now up, now down, his long, sharp claws hold him 
securely as he works. If you look into one of those caves, 
you will find that the floor gradually ascends from the mouth, 
back. Why, do you think 1 To prevent the storm from 
beaíing, or the water from running into it ! How admirably 
contrived ! No pick-axe, no shovel, that little bilí executes 
the whole. 

A beautiful Sparrow found in Hindostán is a skilful basket- 
maker. It successfully eludes the snake and the monkey, by 
plaiting a bottle-shaped basket of long grass, separated inío 



AND EEASON. 



81 



apartments, and suspending it by the neck to the bough of the 
date-tree or acacia. Here is a representation of the nest : 




Doubtless Pug's visage has of'cen wriggled and twisíed wiíh 
ill-suppresscd rage, and bis swarthy countenance growndark- 
er, as the retracted lips disclosed the ivory behind, whenfrom 
some neighboring bough, eying this bottle with the opening 
at the bottom, he was forced to acknowledge, for once, his 
cunning outdone. But we need not travel to Hindostán for 
basket-makers; in the thicket of xVlder bushes by the creek, 
among the reeds and rushes of the swamp, or in the long 
grass of the meadow, are theStarling, the Bullfinch and the 
Thrush, all of a trade. 



82 mSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

Hcre is til© work of a skilful weaver, the Baltimore Star- 
lintj. 




It is fíax and wool woven into cloth; linsey-woolsey for all íhe 
world !- Improved too, for it is sewed through and through 
with horse hair. I presume sorae careful woman in the neigh- 
borhood, has wondered what became of a skain or two of thread 
that was mysteriously missing from a number which she 
spread upon the grass to bleach. Doubtless the starling would 
t el 1 her, if it could, that linen ready spun was very accepta- 
ble. and made excellent warp. 

Bnt the masons, a úseful, hard-working class, musí not be 
slighted. Among them, the Martin may be considered as 
raaster-builder, if we except that oíd millwright, the beaver. 
The martin is not only masón, buí brick-maker. In tlíe 
month of May, he arrives among us, from the fragrant grovca 
of the sunny south. At break of day, while the folded leave» 
are yet wet with the dews of night, you may see him in ths 



AND REASON. 63 

newly-turned furrow, or by the brook, ín quest of material* 
for a dwelling. Nothing comes amiss; partióles of moisí 
earth, slender twigs, bits of straws, locks of wool, are ireciS' 
tires to him; yes, more favored than the oppressed Israelites 
in Egypt, the materials are not denied him. These he skil- 
fully works and tempers into a mortar of great tenacity, and 
having selected a spot for his nest, beneath the sheitering 
eaves of some dwelling, whose inmates are not hostile to his 
little plans, (I am sorry to say, that the dwelling is not un- 
frequently a barn,) he lays the foundation. No sound of 
trowel or hammer, 

"Like a tall pine, the noiselcss fabric grows;" 
each rising sun shines upon the advancing work. SometimeS 
indeed, it falls before it hardens; and, (shall I say it?) some- 
times a wanton boy rudely demolishes the little fabric with 
sticks and stones, but it is a labor of love, and we have hard- 
ly time to lament the martin's loí, ere the breach is repaired. 
Indeed it would almost seem that sparks of that reason^ 
which renders man the lord of this lower worid, had been 
given to some of the inferior animáis. Plans of action are 
theirs, which if laid by man, would have passed unquestioned, 
for the productions of reason; a skill in archítecture and an 
adaptation to circumstanees, which our own British faíhers 
had scarcely attained, or at least had never exhibited, previ- 
cus to the Norman conquest; a real magnanimily, which, if 
displayed by a fellow man, would have awakened in our bo- 
soms a respect for him. All these have been termed instinct^ 
a word which is too often synonymous with mystery; and tó 
this indefinable something, the actions of every animal, biped, 
quadruped and centiped, provided it was not a man, have been 
attributed; to this something, holding that inconceivable po* 



84 INSTINCT, INTELLIOÉNCÉ 

sition, just superior to the laws of matter, just below the 
sphere of intelligence; how correct such opinions may be, I 
leave with you, reader, to decide. Perhaps this book may 
fall into the hands of a metaphysician; one who loves to live 
in a mist of his own gathering; who puzzles himself sadly 
with terms. I can easily conceive how he mightlose himself 
in an abstraction upon mind and thought, and ideas, as I have 
spoken of them; and how, as a partial compensation for such 
a loss, he might discover some shocking absurdity in these, 
my views; if so, I wish him much joy in his Columbus-like 
enterprise; but to me, the acquisition of one truth is of iafi- 
nitely greater valué than all this; with the farmer, a little 
wheat amply rewards me for passing a dozen bushels through 
the mili; one caution the thresher always gives; it applies 
equally well he re, and so I repeat it; "take care; dori't turn 
too fasi r 

It is related of the ceiebrated Exeter 'Change elephant, 
that one day, while feeding upon some potatoes, one of them 
chanced to roll away out of his reach. After making several 
ineíFectual attempts to recover it with his long, flexible trunk, 
suddenly changing his manner of operation, as if he under- 
stood the law of action and reaction, he blew it violently 
againstthe opposite wall, whence rebounding, the potato speed- 
ily sharéd the fate of it less roving companions. We do not 
Kuppose that this noble animal understood the philosophy of 
the schools, but he acted ¡rfíilosophically, brute as he was. He 
evinced the possession of capabilities which fitted him, not 
merely for a life in his native jungles, but which could even 
adapt him to the peculiar circumstances of a life and a prison 
in London. 

Dr. Darwin, an eminent, but in some instances, a fanciftil 
naturalist, tells us, that in a ramble, he saw a wasp tugging at 



AND REASON. 85 

a ñy quite as large as itself, and after many strugglesto bear 
it off, relaxed its hold, and proceeded with Turkish dexterity, 
to relieve the ponderous captive of its head. This being 
done, it succeeded in rising with the prize, only to experience 
a fresh difficultyj the broad wings of the fly greatly impeded 
the flight of the wasp, and it again alighted to renew its sur- 
gical operations. First, it sawed ofFone wing, then the other, 
and once more seizing its victim, disappeared. 

There is a park in England, which in the time of Crom- 
well was called Haré Park, but from the fine thorn trees in 
it, is now called Bushy Park. It is said that the oíd bucks 
which are kept in this enclosure, rear themselves upon their 
hinder legs, and entangling their horna in the low and spread- 
ing branches, shake off the coveted fruit, and then eat it at 
their leisure. It is a fact, well known to the.apiary, that 
bees, before sending out a colony, dispatch scouts or agents to 
select a suitable spot for a settlement, and shape their course 
according to the report of their little spies. What emigrant 
ever acted wiser? The dog, too, has been the hackneyed 
theme of eulogy, but by no means an unworthy one. Who 
does notremember instances of a sagacity almost incredible, 
of death-enduring affection and gratitude? Who ever saw a 
dog travel round the road that makes right angles, when in 
haste, and not rather leap the fence, and plunge into the 
thicket or the stream to take the hypotenuse of the triangle, 
tlrus practically demonstrating a proposition in Euclid. There 
is one fact on record, which is too good in itself, and too much 
to my purpose to be repressed in this connection. A dog that 
had lost his master, at length traced him to the junction of 
three roads. After traveling a short distance upon one of 
them, his keen scent testified that his master had not passed 
that way, so retuming to the common point, he set off upon the 
G 



86 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCS 

second branch; here, too, he was disappointed. What did he 
do? Return to the main road? Nothing of this. Had he 
possessed speech, he would have said something like the fol- 
lowing : "My master has gone on neither the first ñor second 
of these roads, therefore he has taken the third; but here I 
ara, at a distance from that unlucky angle, the commence- 
ment of my trouble, but away across those fields, I see the 
third fork winding over the hill; I can save a trifle in time by 
striking across, so here I go !" Is there any thing fanciful 
in attributing a process like this to a brute, and as Mrs. 
Hemans wrote, a "lordly" one? Investigation acquaints us 
that this is not a solitary instance of brute logic, which Whate- 
ley himself cannot excel. There, too, is Ulysses' dog, oíd 
Argus ! He asks not a line from me to perpetúate his raem- 
ory, for the incident was long ago embalmed by the poet, 
singing, how on the return of the Grecian prince, after a long 
absence of twenty years, and in a beggar's garb, his faithful 
dog recognized him, though forgotten by his own son; but 
let the poet tell it : 

l 'He kneiv his lord ; he knew and ptrove to meet ; 

In vain he strove to crawl and lick his feet ; 

Yet — all he could — his tail, his ears, his eyes, 

Salute his master, then, of joy, he dies!" 

What child has not heard of the Ufe boat of the gnat, or 
how the sprightly red squirrel, land lubber as he is, turns 
sailor, and committing his little life to a broad chip or a bit 
of bark, hoists his bushy sail to the wind, and glides obliquely 
across the wide stream? 

Instinct may impel the little mariner to change his location, 
but intelligence fits out the bark and trims the tiny sail. 



AND EEASOK. 87 



CHAPTER IV. 



The church-going dog — Tíie philosophicalfox — The memory of 
horses — Poctícal extract — The elephant — His intelligence — 
His gratilude — The migration of birds — Briján? s Unes. 

I recollect of hearing, from acredible source, of a dogthaí 
displayed an extraordinary ehurch-going propensity, which 
in his bipedal companions, would have been truly commenda- 
ble. Rain or shine, cloudy or clear, it mattered not, the dog 
might be seen closely following at his master's heels, and 
pacing vvith becoming gravity up to the well-remembered seat, 
beneath which he retíred to meditate and muse. This at 
length became a source of annoyance to the master, for the 
rnischievous children in the adjacent pew, would sometimes 
give Towser a pincb, or some careless man, inadvertently set 
foot upon his tail, at which, though rather amiable, the canine 
propensities of the animal would be manifested in an incipi- 
ent growl from his lurking place. Then sundry juvenile 
tunes would be pitched; as many mothers eye the hapless 
owner of our hero with no doubtful glance, and the worthy 
clergyman look disconcerted. This state of things waxing 
worse and worse, became intolerable, and one sabbath morn- 
ing, the master with an insidious whistle, lured Towser within 
his reach, and tied him securely in the barn. He fawned, 
whined, yelped, growled and even snarled, but it would not 
do, and he remained at home. Another week passed, and 
Sunday carne again. The man went to the door — "Towser, 
Towser!" but no Towser appeared; he went to the shed, the 
barn, the stable, but no dog was visible. Puzzled at the cir- 
cumstance, he wended his way to meeting, and there, by the 
door, sat the dog, with all the dignity of a sexton in the early 



88 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

days of Connecticut, eyeing his belated master, as much as 
to say, "rather behind the time, this morning, sir," and in he 
walked to the accustomed pew. The next sabbatb, and the 
next, the performance was reacted, until the master, amused 
at the intelligence of the dog, in anticipating his designs, suf- 
fered his companionship unmolested. What truant boy ever 
acted wiser in a eourse of rebellion; evading what he did not 
daré to meet, in remembering the day , and in fact, in adopting 
the only eourse by which he could accomplish his object; 
viz: to attend church? How much of memory, of judgment 
and of shrewdness such an act necessarily implies, I will not 
attempt to determine, but if this is only one of a multitude 
of instinets, I am willing that my conduct, in writing this 
book, in laying plans for the future and in all the vai*ied busi- 
ness of life, should be attributed to one or another of the 
thousand and one instinets with which a man who entertains 
such notions, would, in the generosity of his heart, unhesi- 
tatingly bestow upon me. 

Dr. Fish of Boston, tells us, that once when riding by a 
frozen pond, he observed a fox crossing the ice. With char- 
acteristic caution, his foxship stopped ever and anón, as if to 
calcúlate the chances for a ducking. At length he carne to 
a spot of thin ice, more suspicious than any he had passed; 
here he hesitated again, put out, first his right íbot, then his 
left, and bore gently upon the dangerous territory, being par- 
ticularly careful to suífer the principal responsibility of his 
precious self, to rest upon the three remaining pedáis, but no, 
the ice was superlatively thin, and would not do; any body 
else might venture; not he. What was to be done? Some 
favorite scheme of petty burglary must be sacrificed, some 
day-dream of plump fowls and gabbling geese must vanish 
into thinair, if a passageconld not be eífected. After thinking 



AND REASON. 89 

a while, (for who denies that foxes think sometimes?) Rey- 
nard extended himsel f upon the ice at full length; and rolling 
over and over, actually trundled himself out of danger into 
comparativo security, and jumping upon his feet, tripped dain- 
tily on, doubtless wcll plcased with the exploit. Was this in- 
stinct? Could it be the prornpíing of anything less than irt- 
telligence? 

Who does not know that some horses, amid storm and dark- 
ness, and in the deep forest, will bcar their bewildered riders 
safely on, without wandering ffom the path, provided they 
ever passed it befo re? Any inldLige.nl horse will do this, for 
there is as wide a diíTerence among horses in this particular, 
as among men, showing conclusively, that it is r.ot the result 
of inslinct. I never like to drivc a physician's horse, within 
the circumference of his professional ride; for, unless you are 
watchful, he will make for this pair of bars, that gate, orthe 
other shed, expressing his "hovv d'ye do?" to the premises, in 
a kind of whispercd neighing; sometimes, indeed, he will re- 
fuse ío move a stcp, and bracing himself with mulish stub- 
bornness, tura his head over his shoulder, as if to take a re- 
trospect of your proceedings. 

The poet has happily illustrated the possession of memory 
by the horse, the carricr-pigeon, the dog, and even by the lit- 
tle bee, in the following Unes : 

When o'er the blasted heath the day declin'd, 
And on the scath'd oak warr'd the wintry wind; 
When not a distant taper's twinkling ray 
Gleam'd o'er the furze to light him on his way; 
When not a sheep-bell sooth'd his listening ear, 
And the big rain-drops told the tempest near; 
Then did the horse the homeward track descry, 
The track that shunn'd his sad inquiring eye; 



90 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

And win each wávering purpose to relent, 
With warrnth so mild, so gently violent, 
That his charm'd hand the careless rein resign'd. 
And doubts and terrors vanish'd from his mind. 

Recaí the traveler, vvhose alter'd form 
Has borne the buffet of the mountain-storm; 
And who will first his fond impatience meeí? 
His faithful dog's already at his feet I 

***** 

Led by what ehart, transporta the timid dove, 
The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love ? 
Say, thro' ihe clouds what compass points her fiight ? 
Monarchs have gaz'd, and nations bless'd the sight. 
Pile rock on rock, bid v/oods and mountains riss, 
Eclipse her native shades, her native skies; 
'"Tis vain ! through ether's pathless wilds she goes^ 
And lights at last vvhere all her cares repose. 

****** 

Hark ! the bee winds her small but mellow horn> 
Blithe to salute the sunny smile of morn. 
O'er thymy downs she bends her busy course r 
And many a stream allures her to its souree. 
'Tis noon, 'tis night. That eye so finely wrought, 
Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought,. 
Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind; 
Its orb so full, its visión so confin'd ! 
Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell ? 
Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell ? 
With conscious truth retrace the mazy clue 
Of varied scents, that charm'd her as she flewí 
Hail Memory, hall ! thy universal reign 
,Guards the least link of Being's glorious chara. 



AND BEASON. 91 

Is it a simple instinct that impels the elephant to test the 
strength of a bridge, which he is required to cross, before he 
trusts his ponderous weightto its timbers? What country lad 
has not risen two hours carlier than usual, lost his breakfast, 
and run himself breathless, to be by, when the "caravan" 
entered the ncighboríng village? And what lad hasnotseen 
the huge animal try the bridge, with one of his fore feet, un- 
til the very timbers rattled, and thenshaking his broad apron- 
ears about, as if in doubt of its security, rémain deaf, alike 
to entreatiesand commands. Are not -judgment and skill dis- 
played in these movements, or must we add another to the list 
of instincts of adaptation, and cali this, a bridge instinct! 
Then again, with what a memory an elephant is blessed, and 
what gratitude docs he evince. Go into the crowdcd tent of 
a traveling menagerie, give him a piece of tobáceo, and slink 
away into the crowd, but he knows you: his small, bright 
eye gleams upon you expressively; he feels insulted, and who 
blames him? Years may pass; that collection may be brought 
to your village again, and with it, the elephant. Do you 
think he has forgotien you? Trust it not; he remembers the 
tobacco-monger, the moment his eye rests upon him. Do not 
venture within his reach; he might consider you beneath his 
notice, or he might make an example of you; who knows? 

Then the gratitude of this animal is as familiar as a house- 
hold word. Nearly every child has heard of the enraged 
elephant, who (I have written zvho, but I will not change it,) 
as he rushed madly along, trampling every thing that oppos- 
ed his progress, into the dust, removed, with maternal tender- 
ness, a helpless infant to a place of safety, thathad been left 
exposed by the affrighted mother. And vvhy did he do this? 
Because that mother had now and then given him a handful 
of greens, as he passed her stall ! What man ever recipro- 



&2 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

cated a favor more nobly or delicately? We can almosí 
lhink the brute acquainted witb tlie human heart. 

Therc, too, is Columbus, that rescued his keeper from the 
jaws of a ferocious tiger, displayihg an intelligcnce and af- 
fection, which, as the man hímsélf told me, madc them indis- 
soluble íViends for Life; and wcll it mighí, for the idle proíes- 
tations and heartless compliments of the so-ca.Uedfriend.sMp3 
of the vvorld, are of small account, vvhcn compared with the 
atíachment of one noble animal like this. 

The migratory habits of certain birds and quadrupeds de- 
serve a passing notice ín this eonnectiott. 

How often, in the gray of the morning or the dusk of even- 
ing, have we heard tile loud "houe, houc," of the pilotgoose, 
that thus leád's on the two diverging files, following their 
eommon leader. Whither are they bound, and what their 
errand, think yon? What whispers these ceriái voyagers, that 
the far-lakes of the north, offer a secure retreat, alike from 
the inelemeney of the vveaiher, and the sure aim of the 
fowler? Or what induces them, with their just fledged young, 
to seek the balmy miidness of a southern Zone, from the 
eoming blasts of autumn; and íhus, like Logan's cuckoo, be 
ever '-'eompani'ons of the spring?" Who taught them thus to 
steer, from tropic to the line, through the deep, blue, star-lit 
depths of that upper sea? . These and a hundred similar ques- 
tions throng into the mind, and perhaps none of them are eo 
easily answered, as to attribute it all direcíly to Him 
"Who secs with equaj eye as Godof all, 
Ahero perisli, or a sparrow fall." 
That it is altogether instinct, seems to me highly improbable;- 
that it is wholly the restilt of intelligence, I do not believe. 
Whether birds have a sense of which we are ignorant, as 
same suppose, or not, it will be readily conceded that, in ma~ 



AND EEASON. 93 

ny instances, those senses with which we are acquainted, are 
astonishingly acute, in the brute creation; foretelling the ap- 
proach of storms by certain actions or cries, while yet no 
cloud clims the visible horizon, and when nothing less than a 
barometer or a rheumatic could indícate it. It is well known 
that cats hear the movements of their prey, when the human 
ear can distinguish no sound; that rabbits give the alarm to 
burrows the most remóte, by striking the earth with their lit- 
tle feet. So in the case of the maddened elephant, amid the 
discharge of fire-arms, and the crash of timbers as he raged 
round his prison, the voice of his keeper was heard, "Chunee, 
bite," and the noble animal, obedient to the command, kneel- 
ed, and a volley of balls terminated his sufFering. 

Birds of prey, from the acuteness of their sense of sight 
or smell, come from the distant woods and mountains, with 
unerring accuracy, to the spot where the carcass of a slaugh- 
tered animal has been deposited, so recently, that the most 
delicate olfactory nerves could not discover its proximity, 
though in an adjoining field. 

This exquisite sensibility of the organs, together with in- 
stinct, impels them to seek a milder clime, while not unfre- 
quently they seem to avail themselves of peculiar circum- 
stances in expediting their flight, and that too, intelligently; 
the strong currents at the time of the equinoxes, waft them 
on; the height of their flight, such as to set the fowling piece 
at defiance; their caution in foraging when necessary; their 
protracted stages during the night, all seem to imply the pos- 
session of intelligence in accomplishing what instinct imposes 
in behalf of life. One can never think of the migration of 
birds, without remembering the nature-breathing lines of 
Bryant, to a waterfowl. Who has not read them? If ycni 
have not, improve the present opportunity, and whether 



94 mSTIKCT, INTELLIGENCE 

young or oíd, gay or grave, you may, if you will, be the beí- 
ter for ií. 

Whither, midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou puraue 
Thy solitary way ? 

Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong r 
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,. 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean-side ? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — • 
The desert and illimitable air — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold thin atraosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome lana, 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end, 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest 
And scream araong thy fellovvs; reeds shall bend 

Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou'rt gone- — the abyss of hcaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart. 

He, who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,. 
In the long way that I must tread alone, 

Will lead my steps aright. 



AND EEASON. 95 

CHAPTER V. 

The model society qfthe hive-oee — The Wasp — The Ani — The 
Anl-lion — The Jand crab — General inferences — Conclusión. 

Who has not spent many a bright sumrner's morning in 
watching the proceedings of the hive bee? When the gatea 
of the populous city are thrown open, and the hum of the 
multitude rises on the síill air, take your station near the city; 
now a troop of laborers come struggling out; now a band 
laden with the sweets of the field, blocks up the entrance; 
and now, all is clear again. Hark, that low buzz ! There 
comes a funeral procession; see them bearing off the little 
corpse of a companion; now a posse of carpenters are re- 
pairing some of the public works. What now? Here come 
workers, builders and nurses, elbowing and crowding one an- 
other, with true city politeness. See that ! One of them is 
almost crushed; they should summon the pólice; their exqui- 
site sense foretells the approach of rain, and they are hasíen- 
ing to shelter. 

But could you obtain a pass port into the wondrous metróp- 
olis, your admiration would be, if possible, increased. In 
the main streets, you will see companies by tens and twenties, 
with their wings united by the marginal hooks, whose duty it 
is to ventilate the crowded streets by the motion of these na- 
tural fans; yonder comes a relief file. Wo betide the ig- 
norant snail who incautiously venturos within the hive! 
They cannot pierce the shell with their weapons; they mighí 
cover the unwieldy intruder with propolis,* but that would 
be expensive; and that is an important consideration, for you 



* Resembling wax. 



96 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

must know that the bee is an accomplished economist; so they 
take a hint from the snail, and fasten his house with an inso- 
luole cement to the walls, thus making the unconscious ani- 
mal a prisoner for life, and then in true Egyptian fashion, 
embalm the gigantic carcass. Then their architecture solves 
a problem which has puzzled many a mathematician, and 
one in fact, which was wrought since the time of Newton, 
crowning the diseoverer with a mead of unmerited praise. 
In the language of Reaumur, "a quantity of matter being 
given, it is required to form out of it, cells, which shall be 
equal and similar, and of a determínate size, but the largest 
possible, with relation to the quantity of matter employed, 
while they shall occupy the least possible space." The hex- 
agonal* cell of the hive-bee, fulfils the conditions of the pro- 
blem. A casual observer, however, will not fail to perceive 
great variety in the construction of their cells, showing an 
adaptation to circumsíances which would swell the instinct 
roll to a fearful exíent. That the standard form is the result 
of puré instinct, I do not doubt, but that a certain degree of 
intelligence is exhibited in many of their acts, I have no 
hesitation in saying. Some of the cells are circular, and 
some elliptical; some are formed of four pieces, and some of 
five; some 'are erect like so many columns, others lie horizon- 
íally; some of them are half an inch in depth, some, thrice 
that capacity. 

Perhaps the most interesting portion of the subject is the 
loyalty manifested by all classes towards the royal family. 
Nothing can exceed the afFection, and care of these miniature 
subjects, for the queen, who is literally the mother of her 
people. Her slightest wish is gratified; when she moves, a 



Having b'ix sides and six angles, 



AND REAS0N. 97 

train of courtiers are always in attendance; a system of 
duennaship, relative to the young queens is maintained, which 
would do honor to the most jealous court of Europe. The 
animosity which exists among their rival monarchs is truly 
liwnan, and whenever a foreign queen intrudes, where the 
throne is already occupied, she is strictty guarded; and the 
question of supremacy is left to the queens themselves, whieh 
is generally decided by the fall of one of the royal combat- 
ants. ' Deprive a hive of their queen, and the most disastrous 
consequences ensue; the labors upon the public works are 
suspended; the laborers collect in little bands in the streets, 
and the peaceful community is at once transformed into a 
riotous multitude. Then is the monient for an intruding 
inonarch; she will be welcomed with every demonstration of 
respect and aftection; peace will be restored, and the sweets 
of the field and the garden will again be laid under contribu- 
tion. 

íf íurning from the model society of the hive-bee, we con- 
témplate the habits of that rude, but industrious rustic, the 
humble bee, very much that would seem to be the result of 
intelligence, cannot fail to attract our attention. Among 
these little villagers there are no privileged classes; no drones 
subsisting upon the hard earnings of their neighbors; no court, 
no queen, nothing of all this, but a plain, honest community 
of laborers. The result of their summer days oí toil, you 
and I, (to our shame be it said,) have destroyed, as in the 
thoughtlessness of boyhood, we followed the track of the 
reapers in the harvest field. Did you ever see them working 
at their cottages? Arranging themselves in a line, the bee 
most distant from the site of the habitation, having selected a 
tuft of moss, divides it with its teeth, and with its first two 
legs, transfers it to the second pair, and then again to the 
H 



98 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

third, by which the ball has approximated the place, by abouí 
the length of one bee; another laborer stands ready to take 
it, and passes it, in like manner along its regiment of legs; 
another seizes it, and so on, until it reaches its destination ! 
What política! economíst ever recommended a wiser course, 
in the división of labor? Their affection for their young is 
almost without a limit. At a certain period in their growth, 
the bees brood over the cocoons like so many hens, in this 
manner eommunicating that warmth which is necessary to 
the existence of the delicate inmates. 

Hubér placed ten of these silken eradles in such a position 
that they had no foundation, upon which to rest firmly. The 
bees were in trouble; the cocoons were so unsteady that they 
could not cluster upon them. After several attempts to re- 
medy the evil, as a dernier resort, several of them mounled 
upon the comb, and fixing their hindermost feet upon its edge, 
and the forernost upon the table, succeeded in holding the 
mass firmly, while their comradesclustered upon the cocoons, 
For three days, did these living props relieve each other, at 
the end of which time, a sufflcient quantíty of wax was pre- 
pared to build pillars for this purpose. Was this act an in- 
stincíive or an intelligent one? If the former, what is the 
difference between them? For it is highly improbable that 
this communíty were ever placed under such circumstances 
before, or indeed ten of their species, since the first bee 

"Wound Iier small,but mellow born." 

These honest rustios are frequently waylaid by their gen- 
teel cousins from the hive, and by pulling and mauling are 
compelled to"surrender their fragrant burdens for the use of 
these accomplished highwaymen; sometimes the hive-bee, 
taking advantage of the simplicity of the villager, actually 



AND REAS0N. 99 

wheedles him out of his treasure solely by caresses, without 
the least demonstration of hostility. 

Numerous other illustrations of intelligence as exhibited by 
íhese interesting creatures, might be adduced, but they come 
within the observation of every individual who is not immured 
ín a dungeon, and even there, the cunning spider in the cór- 
ner, might interest him, many an hour, whilé it would afford 
conclusive evidence, that even insects possess something so 
very like intelligence, that philosophers themselves are unable 
to detect the difference. 

Having glaaced at these civilized insects, the mind natu- 
rally turns to their distant relatives, the Ishmaelitish horde 
of wasps, with which every idea of carnage and rapiñe is 
generally associated, Carrying on an indiscriminaíe war- 
fare, they are the terror of bee and ñy; you may have seen 
a wasp, prowling for hours abouí the door of a bee-hive, in 
wait for some returning laborer, which he remorselessly falls 
upon and plunders of its treasure. 

Here is the nest of the Vespa Nidulans, a foreign species; 




100 



INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 



These oíd paper-makers are skilled in architecture; 
who has not seen their gray nests hanging from the limbs of 
trees or attached to the posts of fences? During the period 
of building, they alternately sing, as if tocheer one another in 
their tasks. Many surprising indications of intelligence are 
on record, to which doubtless you can have access. 

But the ant, the theme of song, the noble exemplication of 
everything industrious and afiectionate; and that rears a pyr- 
amid in true Egyptian style, surpassing in comparative mag- 
nitude that of Cheops or Cephrenes, must not be omitted. 

Taking the length of a laboring ant at one quarter of an 
inch, and the height of a laboring man at six feet, you per- 
ceive that a wall of one inch reared by the former, is equiv- 
alent to twenty-four feet erected by the latter, and two hun- 
dred and eighty-eight feet in the one, correspond to one foot in 
the other. 

Here is a representation of the dweliing of the Termites 
or white ants; the artist has delineated a human figure to ex- 
hibit the comparative height : 




Then bear in mind that the ant hills are frequently 



AND K.EASON. 101 

ten feet in height, as upon the plains of Senegal, and man 
must heap four pyramids, like Ossa upon Pelion, or these, 
the wonders of the world, would suffer in comparison with 
fhose, the ordinaiy dwellings of his brother inseet. 

Whoever wishes to behold nations contending for a few feet 
of paltry dust; the brilliant hosts ciad in polished armor of 
jet black, with shields like silver gleaming in the sunlight; 
to see the ground strewn with the dead and dying; to see 
prisoners captured and treaties made; to behold military ev- 
olutions, of which Bonaparte or Steuben never dreamed; let 
him be by, when the inhabitants of two neighboring hills en- 
gage in mortal combat. íf you wish to behold affection which 
finds but few parallels among men; an affection which jeal- 
ousy never abates, which time never enfeebles, which even 
death itself, never chills, you must look for it among these 
tenants of the hills; you may see them skipping and dancing 
for very joy, at the presence of a beloved object; you may 
see it strong in death, when a little band linger about the par. 
ticle of cherished dust, caressing and brushing it, as if they 
would reanimate the tiny form. Would you see memory 
among them, make an inroad upon theirterritory and bear off 
a portion of their citizens; retain them for four months, as 
has actually been done; then place your little colony in the 
vicinity of their native home, and their early friends will soon 
visit them, display every sign of recognición and affection, and 
bear them offin triumph to the hill; presently they will re- 
turn, with a host of friends and relatives, and your hive will be 
wholly depopulated. Then there are tribes of slavers among 
the ants; regular land-pirates, who, indolent themselves, are 
continually making assaults upon their ash-colored neighbors, 
the negroes, and actually bearing them off into unwilling 
servitude, to do the drudgery of the nest. 



102 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

ín tropical countries you rnay see a legión of well discí- 
plined slavers ambuslied near a nest of their victims, and 
upon a given signal, rushing upon theni, storming the fof tress, 
which however is defended with desperate bravery; the oíd 
ants are not enslavecl, but only the young; every part of the 
city is ransacked, and-soon the assailants with their prisoners 
leave the depopulated city in loneliness; a few of the oíd yet 
remain, and now and then you may see one. mounted upon a 
plant, holding in its mouth its young, which it had succeeded 
in rescuing from the enemy. The prisoners gradually become 
attached to their conquerers, and labor assiduously, and will- 
ingly, for the convenience of their masters, which, todo them 
justice, are by no means cruel in their treatment of slaves. 
There is much, very much of ínterest connected with these 
proceedings, to which it wouid give me pleasure to allude, 
were it consistent with the design of this volume. 

The most extraordinary statement, and perhaps to some in- 
credible, yet remains to be made, and while it exhibits in a 
clear light, the intelligence of these insecís, you may rely up- 
on its truth, for such men as Huber and Latreille, to whom I 
am indebted for a knowledge of the fact, could have no mo- 
tive in fabricating a fiction upon such a subject. 

That they possess memory, affection, industry, and skill in 
military tactics, almost every one is prepared to admit; and 
perhaps the sceptical would not question the evidence of his 
senses, should he "see them subjugaíing their neighbors which 
are blessed with a darker complexión, and carrying them into 
perpetual slavery; all this may be believed, but when I talk 
of a dairy among ants, of the milch cattle of what some are, 
pleased to cali contemptible bugs; of evident care in íeeding 
their tiny herds; and more than all, of a process, verily like 



ÁNÍ) EEASON. 103 

milking, it is not strange that unenlightened credulity itself, 
might hesitate. 

Such, however, is the fact; these cattle are the aphides and 
the gall-insects. Ány one who will take the trouble to ob- 
serve, (and who would not?) may see the ants ascending 
plants and trees to milk the aphides, which subsist solely up- 
on the juices of vegetables, andyield through two littletubes 
a saccharine líquíd; when no ant is by to be benefited, the 
aphides eject it to a considerable distance. When they do 
not do thi's voluntarily, the ant employs its antennee* in place 
of fingers, and a good purpose they answer, indeed; passing 
them rapidly, fírst on one side of these tubes, then on the oth- 
er, a drop of the coveted liquid repays the milker for its trou- 
ble; so it passes from one aphis to another, until its hunger is 
appeased. 

The ants are jealous of their curious stock, pasture them 
upon particular plants, and an ant from a neigliboring hill 
that attempís a robbery, receives condign punishment at the 
hands of these watchful herdsmen. The possession of intel- 
ligence by the ant, seems placed beyond a doubt, when we 
are informed that the yellow ants collecting a drove of these 
kine, actually domestícate them in their own habitations, pro- 
tect and caress them after the most approved nianner of pas- 
toral times, and even confine them in an inclosure. Some- 
times theybuildachamber around a thistle stalk, upon which 
the insect-cattle feed, so that they have only to climb the stalk 
to enter the fold; in fact, the expedients for preserving their 
cattle are as varied as those practiced by man, and the pro- 
ceedings we have related, are by no means the prompting of 
an unvarying instinct, but of an ever accommodating intelli- 



Frequently called/ee/erí. 



104 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

gence. Illustrations equally striking, might be adduced by 
scores, for the difficulty, which I meet in Ihis examination, is 
not so much the scarcity, as the abundance of material. In- 
dustrious, powerful and intelligent as is the ant, it meets a 
formidable enemy in the ant-lion. Slow in its movements, 
and those invariably backward instead of forward, its cun- 
ning compensates for its infirmity, while at the same time it 
sets at naught the caution and sagacity of the ant. One 
would think that such a creature would be thankful for any 
chance game, any oíd carcass that it might have the good 
fortune to discover; but no; a decided epicure, it disdains 
every thing but the most exquisite delicacies. 

Constructing a conical pit, it conceals its grim visage be- 
neath the sand at the bottom, and patiently lies in wait for 
some unsuspecting ant; a fatal curiosity impels the insect to 
explore the den, or a careless step, precipitates it to the bot- 
tom, when the enormous pincers of the lion cióse unerringly 
upon the victim. Sometimes the ant stops h al f-way upon the 
declivity, but it is not yet out of danger; those twelve eyes 
quickly perceive the chance of escape, and their cunning 
ov/ner, throws a cloud of sand and dirt after the retreating 
ant, which seldom fails to bring it stunned and blinded to the 
bottom. Having made a meal of the favorite food, it care- 
fully bears every relie of the murder away from its den. 
Cast a pebble into the pit, and the trapper will somehow get 
it upon its back, and seramble up the sides with the ponder- 
ous load, balancing it with the skill of a wire-dancer; some- 
times a misstep causes it to stumble, and the pebble rolls to 
the bottom. No way discouraged, the ant-lion retraces its 
steps, and again shouldering the burden, struggles up the 
little ravine, made by the descending stone. 



AND REASON. 105 

Crabs, of which there are several species, present an in- 
teresting subject for contemplation. 

Who has not heard of the annual journeys of the land- 
crab from hollow stumps and clefted rocks, to the sea-side? 
The soldier-like manner in which these singular creatures 
move, is indeed wonderful. Collecting by hundreds of thou- 
eands, they íake up the line of march, not as undisciplined 
militia, but as regulars. The strongest, boldest males form 
the first battalion, clearing the way, and facing the danger as 
gallant soldiers should. Then comes íhe central battalion, 
composed altogether of females, and the rear is bróught up 
by straggling parties of both sexes, which one could al- 
most think were prompted by no other motive than that which 
brings all íhe urchins in the neighborhood.to general muster; 
viz : to see thein "írain." The hermit crab, when in want 
of a shell, may be seen crawling slowly along the row of 
empty shells which the last retreating wave has left upon the 
beach; now it stops by a commodious habitation, t-urns it 
round and over, passes on, and stops again; slipping its tail 
out of the oíd house, it tries the new, and thus maintains the 
search diligently for "lodgings to rent," until it finds a de- 
serted mansión, light, airy and commodious, when it takes 
imrnediate possession. Sometimes the new home is much too 
large, and like a lad in his father's eoat, the tenant is almost 
entirely hidden, claws and all, in the spacious dwelling. 
Whenever two homeless crabs meeting in the same street, ex- 
hibit a remarkable coinciclence in opinión, relative to a de- 
serted shell, a regular fight ensues, and the vicíor takes tri- 
umphant possession, rent free. 

With these examples, I musí, though unwillingly, bring 
this subject to a conclusión. Unwillingly, I say, not because 
í fear that the position is not sustained, viz : that intelligence 



106 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

is possessed by some animáis below the grade of man; but be- 
cause this view of animatcd nature, is full of intrinsic interest. 
The demonstrations of intelligence to which I have alluded, 
are by no means extraordinary, as your own memory will 
bear me witness, but they are none the less conclusive; the 
more closely you observe the actions of the brute creation, with 
the more forcé, will the conviction be pressed upon you, that 
they do remember, compare, reflect, and profit by experience, 
as well as love and hate, exhibit gratíf ude, and seek revenge; 
and the more deeply you will feel the injustice, of that Whole- 
sale slander which it has become so fashionable to cast upon 
four fifths of oür fellpw teríants of the earíh. Leaving every 
other consideration out of the account, an enlightened self- 
respect would assign to each its appropriate place, how elevat- 
ed soever, knowing that man would still be the crowning 
work of omnific Power. 



CHAPTER VI. 

Bifferencc hetween intelligence and reason — The young human 
being — Its helplessness — Its improvement — The internal 
world — Rapidity of thought — What is worthy of the ñame of 
Self — The relation which intelligence and reason sustain to 

language — Classificaüon. 

I have already attempted todistinguish between intelligence 
as possessed by the brute creation, and that birth-right of 
man, a living soul. The latter collects and presents images 
drawn from real life, rapidly following each other like the 
pictures in a magic lantern; this is fancy, but we do not at- 



AND REASON. 107 

tribute it to the most sagacious brute. Man unites ideas; 
breathes into them as if the breath of life; makes them human; 
combines as by some chemical power, elements the most 
heterogeneous; this is imagination; but who supposes a 
dog endowed with such a gift? Man has a conscience; per- 
ceives the moral quality of actions, as right or wrong; but a 
brute has no such possessionor perception. The lioness may 
destroy her young, but we do not view her with that feeling 
of abhorrence, that we should the human mother performing 
a similar act; there is a moral quality in the one, which does 
not exist in the other. 

As in plants we find instinct; in the sponge, instinct and 
sensation; in the elephaní, instinct, sensation and intelligence, 
so, in the man, we find all these, crowned with reason and a 
soul. But with all these possessions, what is a young hu- 
man being? The most helpless of creatures. The chick 
bursting its prison walls, runs oíF, tortoise-like, with the shell 
upon its back. The kjtten frisks upon the hearth, in the exu- 
berance of a new and delightful existence. Throw it frorn 
the table, upon which, from stool to chair it has clambered. 
Do you kill it? It scampers away, evidently well pleased 
with the adventure. Not so with the infaní. Caress or 
handle it with maternal tenderness; its feeble accents are 
only those of pain and weakness. Even the glad light of 
the moming, is a source of pain, and we forsooth must 
blanket out the ciay to insure its comfort. Withdraw the 
supporting arm, and it falls helpless to the ground. Let 
the vernal breezes, so bracing, so full of life to beast, bird, 
insect and fiower, blow upon it. Do they invigorate its lit- 
tle frame? They rather rack it with an agüe. Turn its 
face toward the most beautiful landscape. It does not see 
it, (but let the tongs jingle in the córner, and its at- 



108 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

tention is quickly arrested,) and if perchance a tiny copy is 
pictured upon the magic canvas of its eye, it receives no 
pleasure. What ! no pleasure in the beauties of nature, the 
handiwork of God ! Is it then a little brute? Síay your 
judgment and look again. Its first birth-day has gone by; 
perhaps its second. Now a smile lights up its countenance. 
Give it a rattle or a toy; it tosses its little arms about, as 
though it would perform some wondrous feat, and crowswith 
very glee. Its olear, blue eye beams with something like in- 
telligence. It has learned to balance itself, and exulting in 
its newly acquired powers, it attempts a little journey from 
íhe eradle to the chair. The experiment is a perilous one; 
still it totters on, and now a cry of delight, announces the suc- 
cess of its enterprise. Frown upon it. Inquiry is mirrored 
in its eyes, and wonder is depicted on its parted lips. Speak 
a harsh word. Ah ! you have gone too far; those spirit- Win- 
dows are dimmed, and its cheeks suffused with tears. 

All this is interesting; but do not some other animáis dis- 
play abilities almost equal? Need we seek a more extended 
or copious language for the young child, than for the dog? 
Cannot every feeling of the former find a sound, a look or a 
gesture to express it, in the vocabulary of the latter? Sueh 
a sentiment may conflict with the foolish pride of the heart, 
but it is nevertheless true. Will the natural language of cries, 
looks and gestures be adapted to the capacities of this being, 
when it shall have attained its full stature, during subsequent 
periods of its existence? Let us see. A few more birth-days 
have been celebrated by the fond parents of that blue-eyed, 
laughing child. A child no longer; a man now, he loves to 
contémplate nature. He looks, where beast or bird has 
never looked — "through nature, up to God." That frail thing, 
that a few years ago, was laid moaning on the downy pillow, 



AND KEASON. 109 

enshrines an ever-living soul — "an embryo God;" a soul 
like your own, noble in its origin, powers and destiny. His 
mind immortal as its Author, has gone forth, and from the 
material Universe, has gathered a universe of his own; a 
world of thought, as wonderful as that system which sur- 
rounds him; of thought, alí living like itself, his spirit en- 
dowed with almost creative power, has formed and peopled it. 
What a being that mind of yours is ! Are you not conscious 
of what I tell you? How often, when the curtains of night 
have been drawn around you, and you have closed your eyes, 
but not to sleep, have images of the past, and thoughts of the 
future, occupied that part of you which thinks; when the 
sports of the day have been renewed with heightened pleas- 
ure; companions seemed dearer to you than ever; and you 
have been as interested and delighted, as you ever were in 
beholding the most beautifui scenery of earth. This is what 
I mean by an internal world. I presume you have sometimes 
seen, in your rambles in the field or forest, tall trees, stripped 
oftheir bark, and perhaps riven throughoutthe whole extentof 
their huge trunks. You knew that such could only be the 
effects of lightning. But did you ever see its splintered-fire, 
bursting from the eloud, strike some distant tree or spire? 
Now, let loóse from its dark magazine, and almost before an- 
other now. the object wrapped in fíame? What can outstrip 
the lightning? Nothing, do you say? Yes, you possess that 
which can leave the winged arrows of Heaven far behind. 
Do you ask what it is? I answer, thought. When you saw 
that bolt descending, did you not think of some giant oak, 
which you had often passed, and as often admired, on your 
way to school; or of the dwelling of a neighbor whom you 
loved, situated in that direction, which might be injured orde- 
stroyed? Did not the accounts which you had heardor read, 



110 INSTINCT, INTELLIGENCE 

of Ioss of property and life, flash upon your mind, and all 
this, before the loud, sharp thunder betokened the stroke? 
How many times, think you, your mind could travel from 
earth to heaven and return, before the lightning reached its 
destined ínark? In a clear evening, do you not sometimes 
fix your eye upon a distant star, that shines avvay up in the 
blue sea of space? Doubtless you do, and as you continué gaz- 
ing, andbegin to realize that the "lucid point," isnot "aneedle's 
puncture, to let God's glory through," but a vast world, which, 
"Poihaps iilumes some system of its own, 
With the strong influence of a radiant sun;' 1 

and as a vast chronometer* of Heaven, poised and propelled 
by God's own hand, gilded with living light, beats ages in its 
ceaseless swing. Do not your thoughts fly up, where your 
eyes can scarcely see? But did you ever toait for them to 
make their journey there? You readily answer "no;" and 
yet the very light that meets your eye and apprises you of 
that star's exisíence, though flying at the rate of one hundred 
and ninety-three thousand miles in a single second, may have 
"left its far-fountain, twice-three years ago." 

Perhaps your thought, escaping the visual bound even of 
the far-seeing telescope, embarked from that far island in the 
noble Archipelagof of God, to travel on as near as thought 
can go, to that incalculable Centre around whom all systems 
wheel — to Him, "with whom is neither parallax:¡: norshadow 
of change." How wonderful is thought ! What a birthright 
is mind; a birthright "created in God's own image." Take 
this from man, and he becomes a brute; deprive him of sen- 



* A time measurer, as a clock. 

t Literally, chief sea; in a general sense, "sea of many isl 
ployed in this latter sense here, calling the stars, islands. 
% Variation. 



AND REASON. 111 

sation, and he is superior in nothing, to the trailing vine or 
the green rush. Take care of yourself, then. Self? What 
is worthy of the ñame, but mind? Take such a being, thus 
gloriously endowed. Give him gesture, an expressive coun- 
tenance and a voice; the voice of an infant or a dog; let him 
ery, moan, whine, yelp, growl, or bark, or even give him the 
melodious throat of the nightingale, or the volubility of the 
magpie, and bid him let his feelings forth through such a mé- 
dium. Could he do it? Can you do it? What mockery ! 

Having concluded what I intend to say upon the subject of 
intelligence and reason, some one may inquire, (I hope you 
vvill noí, reader,) what connection there is between these pos- 
sessions and language. Suppose a dog can compare, and an 
elephant calcúlate, what bearing have these processes upon 
the subject of which your book purports to treat? It is cer- 
tainly far from encouraging, to have such questions propound- 
ed at so late a period; but the explanation is easily made. If 
the anímate world possesses nothing but instinct, then there 
is nothing upon which to predícate an iníelligent language 
among brutes; if man is endowed with nothing superior to 
mere animal intelligence, then both the dog and his master 
would employ a médium of communication, differing, it is 
true, as the organs employed, bu¡t precisely similar in extent, 
and every importaní particular. But we have seen that while 
the language of the infant and the brute are identical, the 
language of the man is as much superior to that of all other 
animáis, as his powers are nobler; as much more complex, 
as he, himself is more elevated in the scale of beiner. 



112 LANGÜAGE OF 



CHAPTER VIL 



Language of animated nature — Thisis a world of language — ■ 
Tabular view — Antennal language — Illustrations — Language 
of gesticulation — Its importance — Defecis in modern systems 
of instruction — Power of gesticulation — Not subject to rule — 
Anecdote of Curran. 

Let us now proceed to talk of the language of animated 
nature, as being any means by which one individual furnishes 
another with ideas. 

Always living in a world of life and emphatically a world 
of language, and having, from earliest infancy been inured 
to the multitude of sounds that are ascending day and night 
from myríads of living things, they havebecome almost a parí 
of our being, and excite no particular aítention. 

Henee it is, that the most graphic delineations of nature are 
generally the production of those, who, escaping for a while, 
the murky atmosphere and discordant din of the city, enjoy a 
new existence, as they inhale the fresh, free breath of heaven, 
sweeping ^the rocky bilis and verdant dells of the country. 
But if we had sprang into being upon some planet where 
there was no language, and should be placed in the most se- 
cluded spot of this living world, at rnidnight, how tumultuous 
would be the feelings which these voices would awaken, even 
then, as each wave of sound struck upon our unaecustomed 
ear ! 

The glow-worm trimming its signal lamp in the dewy 
grassj the hielden snake that stays your step with its warning 
rattle; the bright-eyed viper beneath the stone-heap, or the 
noisy geese by the pool, that talk almost English* to you as 



Hissing; our language is notedfor the recurrence of sibilants* 



ÁNIMATED N ATURE. 113 

you pass; the cicada playing a merry tune upon his triangle; 
the ant's silent expression of its feelings, and the dying dol- 
phin's hues; the lion's bristling mane, and the panther's flash- 
ingeye; the bird's soft madrigal, and the cricket's roundelay. 
ringing loud and clear from the hearth-stone; the angry bass- 
note of the captured bee, and the lazy hum of the sleepy 
flies; the tiger's rumbling growl; tiio vulture's scream; the 
squirrel's chirrup, and "mousie's" piping voice, are naught but 
so many varieties of a possession which is as universal as 
social being itself. Naught but so many displays of infinite 
Wisdom, and all are Language — as strictlyso, as the babel- 
sounds in the market, the low whispers of lovers, or the 
thrilling tones, fiushed cheek, lighted eye and expressive ges- 
ture of the orator; differing in manner, diífering in quality, 
difiering in extent, but in natüre, essentially the same. 

Language is susceptible of one grand división; viz: Na- 
tural and Artificial; the former, the language of animal feel- 
ing and intelligence; the latter, peculiarly of human thought 
and human reason; the one has been molded and modified 
by the skill of the creatufe; the other is originally adapted 
to the wanís of its possessor by the wisdom of the Creator; 
in fine, the one partakes of the nature of its possessor, ever 
improving, and ever susceptible of improvement; the other 
limiíed, and without a possibiliíy of expansión. 

Natural language in a general sense, is possessed alike by 
the horse and his rider, by the insect and its tormentor, and 
as such we will now contémplate it. Artificial language is 
peculiar to the man, and though the parrot may be taught to 
sing "Hail Columbia," and the magpie to wish you an appo- 
site "good morning, sir," yet it is a mere mechanical opera- 
tion, unintelligent in itself considered, as the creaking of a 
cart-wheel; divested of feeling, intelligence, every thing which 



114 



LANGUAGE OF 



gives Ufe, forcé and soul to language, and in comparison with 
which, the cawing of the most loquacious raven, is greatly 
superior. 

With these remarles, I will proceed to glance at the difter- 
ent descriptions of Language, but it will be only a glance; 
the subject is worthy a larger volume and an abler pen than 
my own; and if, by the allusions that I make, interest may 
supersede apathy, and.neglect be transformed into attention 
relative to Language, it will be all that I wish, and even 
more than I darehope; thatan existing interest should be deep- 
ened, and the duty gradually lose i'tself in the pleasure, is no 
more than the subject should effect, without respect to the garb, 
with which it is the writer's provínce to clothe it. 

The different metbods of communication, together with the 
organs chiefly employed, and the senses to which they are 
severally addressed, are contained in the following table of 

LANGUAGE. 

Natural. Organs. 

Antennal, Antennse, 

Gesticulation, Muscles, 

Countenance, Nerve of Expression, " 

Sounds, Musical Apparatus, Audible. 

Voice, Larynxv " 

Artificial. Organs. Descriptionv 

Deafly Dumb, Fingers, Visible, 

c , i Larynx, tonque, teeth, } A ,., , 

Spoken, | lipsW palSte, \ Audlble ' 

Written, Visible. 

Written for the Blind, Tangible, 

The antennse, or as they are frequently termed, horns or 
feelers, are possessed by almost all inseets, though differing 



Description. 
Visible and Tangible.. 
Visible. 



ANIMATED N ATURE. 115"' 

ín form and size. Much doubt has been expressed by several 
erninent naturalists, relative to the exact use of these organs, 
but one fact is ascertained; viz : that the sociability of the 
bee and the ant, is as eífectually destroyed, when the insect 
is deprived of its antennce, as the social relations of a man 
would be, were he deprived of every médium of communica- 
tion with his fellows. Any person who is not dbove such con- 
templations, can satisfy himself upon this point. Sepárate a 
queen bee from her subjects; the sad announcernent has not 
yet been made; the public vvorks progress; the wants of the 
young are supplied; laborers are continually passing in, la- 
den with the svveets of many a rifled flower, and going forth 
íbr a nevv supply. But see ! A few of the workers are ap- 
prised of the bereavement, and lí'ke couriers, are hurrying 
from street to street. Now they meet a companion; one of 
íhem crosses antennEe with him; he learns the melancholy 
truth; he too is agitated, and hastens off to inform his neigh- 
bors; he performs the same act, and like resulís follow. 
Thus it passes, (I had almost said, from mouíh to mouth,) 
from antennce to antennce, until the whole city is in an uproar. 
Place the queen in such a position that her subjects can reach 
her with their antennEe; a conversation is immediately com- 
menced, and like the chief magistrate on days of levee, the 
ill-fated queen is compelled to shake hands and say a word 
to each of the loyal throng; that is, to cross antenna? with 
every one. Deprive a queen of her antennee and the work-- 
ers, though they acknowledge her rank, do notrecognize her, 
but pay allegiance as readily to any other; perform a similar 
amputation upon a worker, and he leaves his labor, his com- 
panions, and finally the hive. ín a moonlit night, as the sen- 
tinels march their "rounds," if some prowling moth ventures 
^ithin the lines,. the challenge is passed, and the antennal 



116 LANGUAGE Oí 

alarm given, when a íroop rushing out, inflicí summary purs- 
ishment upon the hapless spy. 

Ants afíbrd a striking exemplification of this language, nol 
only in aífectionate intercourse, but in war. In the heat of 
action, when ant struggles with ant in mortal combat, if, as 
sometimos happens among men, friends make an assault upon 
a party from their own city, through misapprehension, a re- 
cognition takes place, by the crossing of their antennse, 
and they immediately set to, with renewed zeal, to compén- 
sate for the loss of time. We are told by a gentleman of 
great celebrity in the literary world, that béing annoyed by 
some ants, that encamped in the neighborhood, and not un- 
frequently despatched foraging parties, in quest of honey, 
sugar, and similar rarities, he suspended a dish of molasses, 
by a string to the ceiling. 

The marauders paid their visit as usual; but not finding 
what they coveted, most of them returned to their quarters; 
one, more curious than the rest, pursuing hrs inquiries, 
chanced to set foot upon the string, and traveling down, dis- 
oovered the treasure. Aíter saíisfying his appetite, he, too, 
disappeared; but soon, the gentleman was surprised to see 
hirn returning, as pilot, with a troop of companions following 
him; down the string he went, and down they all went, and 
had a merry time of it. Who doubts that a conversation, 
maintained as I have intimated, was the cause of the latter 
expedition? These proofs of antennal language among in- 
síects, were taken at random, from a multitude; I might speak 
of the signáis of alarm and attack; of orders and counter- 
orders; of the calis for assistance, and the reciprocation of 
affection among these creatures; in short, of all those Com- 
munications which must always be maintained by language, 
between good citizens in any welhregulated community, 



ANIMATED NATÜEE. 117 

whether of ants or of" men; in a metrópolis, or an emmet- 
hill. This subject you can examine at your leisure, and you 
may be assured that it is one which a few moments, or a few 
hours of contemplation will not exhaust. 

Let us now turn our attention to the natural language of 
Gesticulation; a médium of expression to which we frequent- 
ly resort, and of which we are accustomed to think so lightly; 
a language as perfect in the savage as in the civilized, in the 
Asiatic as in the American; a language which needs no 
Grammar, no interpretation except one which is readily sug- 
gested. How often would the traveler in strange lands perish 
from hunger or cold; how often would his life be jeoparded, 
were it not for gesticularon; to this he can resort. Is his 
home eastward? He points thither. Is his destination west? 
He indicates it in a similar manner. Is he cold or weary? 
He wraps his garment more closely about him and shivers, 
or prostrates himself upon the ground. The veriest savage 
understands it well, though he may proffer no assistance. 

Have you never felt the power of a single gesture — a 
something which words could not possibly have effected? 
Have you never seen an orator as well as heard him, when 
you was at a loss to determine of which sense you had rather 
be deprived, sight or hearing? Then, indeed, do you know 
something of the language of gesticulation. 

The language of gesticulation is rnuch used by those na- 
tions who have not assumed the fetters of arbitrary rule, or 
by those rude tribes, whose artificial language is inadequate 
to clothe all the ideas which they have occasion to express. 
As artificial methods of communication are improved, the ne- 
cessity for gesticulation is removed, and therefore, it is in a 
great measure dispensed with. This is undoubtedly a defect 
in the elocution of our country; fearingto become theatrical, 



118 LANGUAGE OF 

we have become staíue-like, and, in many instances, display 
no more signs of life, than did the fabled statue of Memnon, 
whence musical soundswere saidto issue. 

This species of Natural Language cannot be learned m 
the schools; it is not a human invention, and human skill can 
no more improve it, than it can the eye itself; we should avoid 
extravagance and inelegance in gesture, but give a person an 
important subject, let him understand it fully, and feel deeply 
its moment, and bis gesticulation, thus prompted, will be as 
graceful, and yet forcible, as his emotions are strong and 
natural. 

The best rule for employing this, and every other species of 
natural language, is to observe ?io rule; touch them not with 
the fingér of art; suffer them to be what they are, natural, and 
criticism will be silent, as in the presence of the great standard. 
When I speak of gesticulation, I do not refer to the automaton- 
like movements which are too frequently displayed at school 
exhibitions, for the admiration of the multitude. To a person 
of discernment, the merit, if there be any, does not consist in 
nature, but in the imitation of it, and he may be betrayed into 
the same error, as was Johnson, who mingled with a vo- 
ciferous rabble, to witness the antics of a bear; returning home, 
he pranced and leaped about, fairly surpassing Bruin, 
'•but," said his friend, "it was a hear, you know, and not a 
man; this was the true cause of the stormy admiration which 
you witnessed." Real gesticulation is not necessarily a sepá- 
rate part, but with the speaker, should spring directly out of 
the subject; and as, when you touch some string of a harp, the 
corresponding chord will give forth its tone though un- 
stricken, so, in obedience to a kindred law, should gesticulation 
add depth and power and richness to the thought. To retum 
ío the anecdote; what in the bear excites wonder, in the man, 



ANIMATED NATÜRE. 119 

would either awaken contempt, or be a mere matter of course; 
thus a man gamboling about like a quadruped, is a proper ob- 
jecí for ridiculé; but a human being, walking, "with counte- 
nance erect," is what every one éxpects. 

But an individual, who, withouí being interested in hissub- 
ject, indulges in frequent and violent gestures, threshing the 
innocent air in the most barbarous manner, tells that of him- 
self, tharhis friends would shrink from telling for him. He 
discloses most clearly, not only a want of feeling, but a con- 
sciousness of it; how revolting in any speaker, whose theme 
is one of interest, whether in the legislative hall, at the bar, 
or in the prívate circle, but especially in the occupant of the 
sacred desk — the minister af the altar! Leí him who has 
witnessed such a scene, (and who has not?) take warning. 
The language of gesticulation is farther removed from the 
perverting power of the hypocrite, than the inveníed language 
of men. Ií requires no extraordinary share of discernment 
todiscover whether the gestures of. the speaker have a- more 
intímate connection with the man, than the movements of the 
vane upon the spire. Theatrical performers present no sound 
objection to this statement; for itiswell known that the tears 
which trickled down the cheeks of Garrick, or the smiles 
that lit up the countenance of Foote, were not fictitious ones, 
but the real, scalding tears of grief, and the heart-born ex- 
pressions of joy. This is the acknowledgment of almost 
every actor of the first class, and indeed it was remarked of 
one, that "he never was natural except when he acted." Let 
us, then, preserve natural language as its Architect gave it, 
that the ceremonious and sincere may not be blended in an 
inseparable unity. 

The ancient Romans employed gesticulation to a far greaí- 
er extent than we do now. They even separated speaking 



120 LANGUAGE OF 

and acting; and while one individual pronounced the senti- 
ment, another made the appropriate gestures; an arrange- 
ment which seems very strange to us, but it is not so strange 
perhaps, as a feat which it vas reserved for us moderns to 
perform; viz : for one individual to carry onboth parts, with- 
out any obvious connection; learn to pronounce the piece 
first; second, the gestures; and third, so ingeniously to com- 
bine them, that an acute observer could at least determine, 
that it was one sentiment or another of several consecutive 
ones, which the particular gesture was designed to enforce. 

It is recorded that Cicero, the great Román orator, contend- 
ed with Roscius, the actor, which should express a thought in 
the greater number of ways, the former in artificial, spoken 
language, or the latter in gesticularon. This shows, in a 
strong light, the great skill which was attained in the latter 
speciesof language. 

Plays, performed without spoken language, but simply 
looked and acted, are called Pantomimes, compounded of two 
Greek words, meaning, "imitating every thing." Some in- 
dividuáis can convulse an audience with laughter one rao- 
ment, and melt them to tears the next, without employing an 
audible word, but merely looks and gestures. But the days 
whenfingers talkéd, and muscles moved eloquently, are almost 
gone by. Artificial methods of communication are making 
sad inroads upon the peculiar province of natural language. 
Inventions are multiplied almost daily, that supersedethe ne- 
cessity for its use, although they can never attain its elegance 
or power. The demonstrative or pointing pronouns furnish 
an apposite illustration: — Suppose you are directing the at- 
tention of a child to some objects in nature; perhaps a beau- 
liful plain, stretching away almost to the horizon's verge, and 
a mountain looming up in the distance beyond. Pointing to 



ANIMATED NATURE. 121 

the former, you might say, "plain;" to the latter, and say, 
"mountain;" the chilcl would understand you. Again, you 
might suíFer your arm to hang motionless by your side, and 
say, "this is the plain; thai is the mountain;" and you wouhd 
be understood equally well, for the demonstraíive supplies the 
place of a gesture. 

No one ever mistakes a gesture which is prompted by na- 
ture; no Joseph is demanded to iriterpret its meaning; when 
a man wrings his hands convulsively, you know that he is in 
distress; when he claps them and dances, he says to you, as 
plainly as he can, "rejoice with me, for I am happy." Who 
needs a commentator to inform him that this man is surprised, 
and perhaps a little alarmed, at something, which he doesnot 
deis;n to tell us? 




Who doubts that Shakspeare's Horatio threw himself into a 
similar attitude, when spying the approaching ghost before 
Hamlet, he cries out, "Look, my lord, it comes !" Perhaps 
some one, when reading, in these pages, of the proceedings 
x)í those famous dairy folks, the ants, milking their kine, 
and folding their herds, may, dropping the book, lift his hands, 
as does this worthy, and in an ecstasy of surprise and appre- 
J 



122 LANGUAGE OF 

hension. exclaim, "bless me ! can this be true? Is the author 
sane?" It would not be strange if some person should actu- 
ally be aíFected thus, but I hope that you will not, reader. 
Here comes another characíer : 




I need not tell you that a strong feeling of aversión is in- 
dicated by the stretched out arms and averted head. It may 
possibly be, though I do not assert it, that this man, believing 
in the intelligence of animáis, and in an intelligible language 
among them, has been listening to a tiracte oí ridicule against 
the yiéws hereexpressed. Just at this fortúnate moment, his 
patience becoming exhausted, he, with this expressive ges- 
ture, exclaims, "away v/ith such contracted notions! Away 
with them !" 

So great power did the ancients attain bver their auditors 
by means of this language, when combined with artificial 
methods of communication, that a law was passed, forbidding 
the Román Senators to employ it in their orations. 

The proper use of gesture, sometimes produces wonderful 
effects. It is said that Curran, when pronouncing his elo- 
quent speech relative to those who acted as informers to a 
tyrannical government, after portraying their character in alí 



ANIMATED NATURB. 128 

its dark and hideous lines; representing them as disinterred 
from a moral grave — wrapped in the garments of corruption — 
their hearís festered and dissolved within them, appearing in 
the Court-room as witnesses; after he had sketched all this, 
with a fearful minuteness, Curran suddenly stopped. His 
eyes starting from their sockets, were fixed by some hidden 
fascination uponthe opposite door; his trembling finger point- 
ed thither, as though the very image he had just portrayed, 
etood before him; in a voice low and sepulchral, as if terror 
had disembodied it, inquired, "have you not seen when he 
eutered, how the multitude retired at his approach? How the 
human mind bowed to the supremacy of his power, in the 
undissembled homage of deferential horror?" The words 
were nothing, but the manner, the look, the gesture were 
enery thing, and the vast concourse, already wrought up to 
the highest pitch, turned as one man, with a convulsive shud- 
der, toward the door. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Tlie Deaf and Dunib — Their manual Alphabet — Mr. GaUau- 
det — The eonntenance — Passion-dialing — Connection ofmind 
with body — Description of the Dial — The sixth sense — TJie 
facial muscles — Their ñames. 

Having concluded what I proposed to say, of the language 
of gesticularon, I can only recommend it to you as worthy a 
far more thorough investigation, than I can even assist you to 
make, muc-h less institute altogether. 

In turning from this to another species of natural banguage, 



124 LANGUAGE OF 

one of the artificial media of communication, seems to claim 
a place in this connection; viz : that of the deaf mutes. 
Perhaps, indeed, it cannot be more properly introduced than 
at this very moment, as we are leaving the only branch of 
natural language which bears theslightest analogy to it. 

The skill of man was never directed to the accomplish- 
ment of a nobler object, than the inventionof some means by 
which these unfortunate, but immortal beings could become 
more thoroughly conversant with one another, and the beau- 
tiful world around them. Remember that there are more 
than sixty two tlwusand* human beings, among the civilized 
and enlightened nations, beside the vast number scattered 
throughout the heathen tribes, who dwell in a world silent as 
the tomb; sixty two thousand who never heard the sweet 
tones of friendship, as you have; never listenedtofhe melody 
of music; never felt the eloquenee of speech. 

When you remember this, you can appreciate that phüan- 
thropy, which catching a hint from the natural language of 
gesticulation, devised, a method, by which these pent-up spir- 
its can hold converse with their fellow-men. Think a rao. 
ment ! What voiceless but heartfelt praise must have ascend- 
ed from those silent ones, to that great and good Being, who 
put it into human hearts to do a deed like this. Think again ! 
What gratitude should swell your bosom, that speech and 
hearing unimpaired, were given you. I ara sure that you do 
not wonder why I have devoted a few Unes to a notice of the 
language employed by the deaf-mutes, for, in truth, I will not 
hesitate to say, that if I could trace no analogy between this 
and any other branch of the subject, I should most certainly 



* 6,106, in U. S. A.; 12,000 in England; 16,000 in France; 27,000 
in Austria. 



anímate» natüre. 125 

introduce ít, for the peculiar interest with which it must ever 
be invested, to him who, with a clear head, is also blessed 
with a warm lieart. 

A few years only, have elapsed since the deaf, the dumb 
and the blind were considered to be without the palé of intel- 
lectual being, and amid the blaze of mental and moral light 
were suffered to grope in the darkness of heathenism. But 
a star has ariseri in their dai'k horizon, ushering in a glorious 
morning, and almost blessing them with a new c.xistence. It 
seems as if the prophecy of the gifted Isaiah was even 
now being fulfilled; -'that the eyes of the blind are even 
now opened, the ears of the deaf unsíopped, and the tongue 
of the dumb breaking forth in song.' But when that time 
shall indeed arrive, the ñame of Thomas H. Gallaudet will 
be engravedon the tablet of many a grateful heart. Howard 
let the glad light of íleaven in upon the dark, damp cells of 
European prisons, but Gallaudet has unbarred the stronger 
gates of the mental prison-house, and admitted the nobler, 
purer radiance of intellectual day. 

The manual or Spanish Alphabet of these unfortunate 
beings is here presented. Thus "the deaf hear :" 
A B C B E 




126 



LANGÜAGE OF 

L M N 




W 





Let us now turn our attention to that most interesting portion 
of natural language, the countenance; a subject, which has 
strong claims to be ranked as a science, and which is well 
worthy the attention of the physiologist, the metaphysician, 
and, allow me to add — yourself. By Pathognomy or passion- 
dialing, you are to understand, the knowledge of some appa- 
yatus for determining the emotions or passions that agítate the 



ANIMATED NATURE. 127 

bosom, though not expressed in artificial languagc. Who 
does not kraow that the inmost feelings of his soul may be 
shadowed out upon the counten anee, or in the positions of the 
body, in characters so legible that even an indiíferent obser- 
ver can read them ? That, though he may say he is not 
oííended, or grieved,or terrified, that his couníenance bears a 
beüer testimony? . How careful should we be, then, that no 
emotion heayes our bosoms, that we indulge in no habit of 
thought, which we should blush to have "known and read of 
all raen," for it is a species of natural language, understood 
alike by Greek and barbarían; it requires no key, no vocab- 
ulary;. in it, the inhabitant of Greenland can hold converse 
withthe swarlhy son of the tropic, and the native of Amer- 
ica with the Ishmaeliteof the desert; and it is the language 
of brutes as well as of men. 

Let us now, examine the structure of this v/onderful appa- 
ratus, which rnay be appropriaíely termed the passion-dial. 
The human body is the dwelling of the rnind, and wiíhout it, 
would be inanimate as a clod of earth, which indeed it is, 
though wonderfully formed and filled with life. NoW, though 
the ethereal tenant has the control of every part of its earthy 
dwelling, yet its particular residence is in the brain, which 
is situated in the head. Few muscular movemenís of the 
body when in a healthy síate, oceur without the voliíion of iís 
inhabitant. 

These motions are performed by means of fiveor six hun- 
dred bundles of cords or fibres which are called muscles, and 
compose what is generally termed the lean partof the flesh. 
Some of the muscles act in opposite directions, and are called 
antagonist muscles; thus if the mind wills to bend the arm, 
the obedient muscle contraets; it wills again, and this cord 






128 LANGTJAGE OF 

slmply relaxes while another acts, and the arm can be thrust 
out, violently, as in giving a severe blow. 

The forcé of a muscle is in proportion to the number of 
fibres or strands which compose it, but only a small number 
could be attachedto apoint, therefore they are converged and 
united to one cord called a sinew or tendón, which is fastened 
to the bone, without enlarging the joints in such a manner as 
to destroy the symmeíry of the limbs. 

While treating of these curious instruments of natural 
language, it may not be uninteresting to allude to the muscu- 
lar sense. Every one is not aware that he is blessed with six 
senses; perhaps you are not, reader; but a few facts will 
convince you, that for elegance and rapidity of movement, 
and for a vast amount of physical convénience and happiness, 
the anímate world are indebted to íhis seeming supernumera- 
ry. When you wish to lift your hand to your head, how do 
you know where the useful member is? Are you ever under \ 
the necessity of looking for it? It might be crossed upon your : : 
breast, or be lurking behind you; it might be reposing lazily" 
in your pockct, or be hanging by your side; but I have no 
ihesitation in sayi-ng that you neyer wére obliged to institute 
such a ísearch. Again; when you reach upward for an arti- 
cle, what acquaints you, that the hand is elevated to its utmost 
height, when you neiíher íouch ñor see any object? jn the 
darkness of night, you are as well aware of the state of the 
volunta ry máseles, as in the glare of day; it. cannot be the- 
result of visión, for the blind man never errs in this particu- 
lar. When you wish to turn your eyes toward any object, I - 
will venture to say, that you never make two eíForts to direct 
^hem aa you desire, now contracting one muscle too little? 
and now relaxing another too much; and yet, how do you be- 
come acquainted with the condition of these six muscles?; 



ANIMATED NATUKE. 129 

Ceríainly neither by sight ñor touch, for then would these 
senses be constantly employed in superintending the opera- 
tions of four hundred muscles, and their millions of fibres. 
Indeed, it is by no means probable that these senses are at all 
competent to the task, for such is the position of many of the 
muscles, that they are inaccessible, either to the eye or the 
hand. These duties then, the benevolent Creator has assign- 
ed to the sixth or muscular sense. 

I will mention an instance of the loss of this sense, as giv- 
en by Dr. Griscom. í£ A mother, while nursing her infant, 
was seized with a paralysis, attended by the loss of power 
on one side, and the loss of sensibility on the other. In this 
situation, she could hold her child with the arm that retained 
its strength, only whenshe looked tipon the infant, The mo- 
ment her attention was diverted thence, the flexor muscles 
relaxed, and the child was in danger of falling." The loss 
of this sense could be seen no where so clearly, as among 
those who are yet in all the vigor and buoyaney of youth. 

Reader, did tyou ever attend District School? If so, you 
remember what I cannot describe but poorly. Let us visit the 
time-tinged building near the cióse of a long, summer after- 
noon. How many anxious, how many impatient countenan- 
ces are watching the sunlight, streaming in, at the dingy 
panes of a west window, as it moves toward a particular nail- 
scratch upon the floor, the handiwork of some juvenile dialist. 
Who would not know that some mighty revolution is about to 
be effected in this little community? The hum of foríy 
pairs of lips, which are plied with a rapidity precisely pro- 
portioned to their owner's zeal, is gradually dying away; the 
small folks have had their last ennui for the afternoon. 
The light has reached the mark — is on it — beyond it ! Some 
are packing their books for the third time in ten minutes, 



ISO LAHGTTAGE O? 

Even the "large" boys, on the back seats, look up from theii' 
copy, and as for the low seats, every occupant is a little model 
of attention. 

Let us make the best of our way out, before they get their 
hats, bonnets, books and slates. Here they come ! Soma 
skipping and jumping; others hopping like veritable tree- 
frogs. What shouts of joy and exultation and sheer love of 
noise fill the air ! One sets up a whistle that a regular 
"northeaster" might envy. Another gives a whoop worthy 
of Black Hav/k or Tecumseh. A way they go, hither, thither, 
in all directions to their homes. Let us rob this little troop 
of their "sixíh sense," and witness the result. 

What a change! Now they come slowly out, one by one, 
peering and peeping about, ene for Iris hand to put on his hat; 
another is closely watching the already ascendirig arm, tobe 
assured that it reaches its déstination; a third has advanced 
one foot, and is looking behind for its lagging companion; 
some drop their books, others their slates, and a singular ap- 
pearance they make. Such is the importanee of the sixth 
sense to the anímate v/orld; but, interesting as it would be to 
trace, síill farther, the action of this sense, my limits forbid 
me to dwell longer upon it, and we must return to the mue- 
cles of expression. Some muscles are circular, as those 
which surround the eye or the mouth, called sphincter mus- 
cles, from a Greek word, signifying "to draw together." 



ANIMATED NATTTEE, 131 

Here is a drawing of théTace, with its principal muscles : 




II 



L Temporal musde; íhis is the elevator of the the lower 
jaw, in masíication. 2 Orbicularis oculi; the circular mus- 
ele employed in squinting, closing the eye, and in produeing 
tears. 3 Levaior labii superioris: employed in elevating the 
upper lip. 4 Zygomaticus major, draws the lips írpward and 
outward. 5 & 6 Zygomaticus minorj these muscles are es- 
ercised almost constaníly by those who live laughing l-ives; 
they are employed in grinning by some animáis when enrag- 
ed. .7 Assistant Masiicaior. 8 Depressór anguli oris; this 
muscle draws down the angles of the mouth in fear, con- 
tempt, sneering and kindred feelings. 9 Mastoideus; this is 
much usecl by peíülaní persona and young ladies, who put on 
coníemptuous airs, iñ throwing back the head. 10 Laiissbnus 
coili; this beautiful rib'bon-like muscle depresses the lower lip 
and corrugates the skin of the neck. 11 Frontalis; ií raises 
the eyebrows as in wonder; and wrinkles the forehead as in 
deep thought. 12 Corrugalor supcrcilii; the action of this 
muscle produces a scowl. 13 Orbicularis oris; draws together 
the lips. 14 Levator labii inferioris lifts up the lower lip as 
in the act of pouting, produces a dimple, and may compresa 
the lips so as to give an appearance of firmnees. 



132 LANGUAGE OF 

It is calculated that a hundred* muscles are called into ac- 
tion every time we breathe; and yet how few are conscious of 
the vast variety of maehinery that is set in operation, each 
successive moment, night and day, year after year, till life is 
extinct ! 



CHAPTER IX. 

The brain, the capítol of the rriind — lis messengers — The 
nerves — Experimeni — Nerve of expression — Illustration — 
Explanalien of phenomena—Aneedote of Garrick — -Conclu- 
„- sion. 

Perhaps you inquire, . "how the mind communieates 
its wishes to the muscles in diíFerent parts of the body?" 
This is a natural question, for we are not conscious that the 
mind ever leaves the brain, even-for an instant, until it "re- 
turns to God who gave it, and the body to theearth as it was." 
Now, as the mind occupies the brain as its capítol, it musí 
have messengers to bear its mandaíes to the members of the 
body, and also to communicate intelligence from its extreme 
parís. Of the nature of this communication, we are ignorant, 
"but this we fcnow, that from the brain, "that palace of the 
soul," issue in every direction, fine threads, called nerves, 
which, as so many avenues from the seat of power, to every 
portion of the territory, communicate with every muscle, and 
visit every point on the surface of the body. 

These nerves are the scouts, the mental runners; they 
warn, if they do not defend; they unite mind with matter, the 
material with the immaterial; nothing escapes their notiee. 



ANIMATED NATURE. 138 

Take a fine cambric needle, and make a slight puncture in 
the hand of your companion. There ! Ycu touched a nerve, 
and the mystic messenger communicated it to the brain. 
What next? His mind has become acquainted with the fact, 
and has issued a variety of orders; other machinery is put 
in motion; some muscles relax; others contract; the head 
turns, and your companion discovers you with the needle. 
His eye reflects your image; the tell-tale nerve communicates 
it at head-quartexs. See ! it has willed again; along the 
nerve the swi-ft volition darts; the muscles obey; he smiles; 
all this, quick asthought ! 

But especially, we are bound by our subject, to notice those 
wonder-working nerves, coming out ni front bf the ears, and 
diverging over the whole face. 

These nerves are the solé insíruments of expression; the 
thousand strings of this wóndrous harp of life. Indepen- 
dent of the nerves which besíow sensibility, both the motions 
in respiration and speaking, every indication oi' emotion in 
the man, and every demonstration of passion in the brute, are 
produced solely through íhe influence of this nerve. If the 
oiher nerves which wander in "live meander," over the face, 
are divided, sensibility is destroyed; but all the exquisite 
changes and shades upon this mental dial-plate, remain un- 
impaired. In the language of Bell, "it is when the strong 
man is subdued, by this mysterious influence of soul and bo- 
dy, and when the passions may be truly said to tear the heart, 
that we have the most unequivocal proof that it is the order 
of functions which we have been considering, that is then 
afFected. These are not the organs of breathing merely, but 
of natural and articúlate language also, and adapted to the 
expression of sentiment, in the workings of the countenance 
and of the heart." From the first gasp of the new-born in- 
K 



134 LANGTJAGE OF 

fant, ío the last, faint struggle of the dyingman, these mystic 
chords are ever vibrating, to each breath of emotion, and each 
ruder gust of passion. 

Here is a delineation of one of the nerves of expression, 
coming out before each ear, and diverging over the whole 
face : 




The truth of these statements has been established by ac- 
tual experiment. An eminent surgeon once divided the 
respiratory ñerve on one side of a monkey's face; strange 
results followed; one side of Pug's visage, kept on, wriggling, 
chattering, grinning and scowling, as impudently as ever, 
while the oíher maintained all the gravity of a Turk. Sepa- 



ANlMATED NATUEE. 135 

rate this nerve in a dog, and though he will fight as bitterly as 
ever, there will be no retraction of bis lips, no flashing of his 
eye. A person, whose nerves become impaired or destroyed 
by disease, laughs audibly but not visibly, and furnishes 
the only instance of a laugh with unruffled sobriefy. The 
general system of nerves sustains the same relation to the 
development of our affections, that the organs of sense do 
to those conceptions which correspond ío the qualities of thí. 
material world; without them, we might hear and see, but 
those emotions which vivify and humanizó thoughts and ac- 
tions, could never be awakened. 

Depending upon the peculiar sensibility of the heart, is an 
extensive apparatus of muscles; so a mental state produces a 
sensation in the heart, and through the physical connection, 
this, the acting agent, and that, the controlling principal, the 
complícate and beautiful machinery is put in motion. While 
the muscles employed in speaking, are instruments of es- 
pression, there are other muscles, also, peculiar to man, which 
are continually speaking out the secreta of the tenant within. 
Man, then, from the very structure of his írame, evinces the 
possession of something higher and nobler than mere animal 
intelligence; for he not only has nerves and muscles, em- 
phatically his own, but he combines in his constitution, the 
peculiar excellencies of the two great classes* of animáis. 

From the preceding explanation of the nerves, you will 
readily understand wby real grief arfects the breathing; why 
the utterance is hurried and imperfect; «why the muscles of 
the throat are affected with spasms, and why the lips and nos- 
trils quiver under its influence; you will understand why fear 
blanches the cheek, and a sense of shame suífuses the whole 



* Carnirorous and gramnivoroup. 



136 



LANGUÁGE OF 



face with crimson, which in ihe language of the oíd cynic,* 
is virtue'3 own color. 

Whoever looks around upon tho circle of his acquaintance, 
will not fail to perceive that those who are the mosj cndeared 
to him, and whose countenances aro the most agreeable, are 
not those who are abstractly beautiful, possessing regular 
features, or fair complexión, or symmetrical form. The 
countenance is a lantern, and vvhcn illumined by the noble 
sentiments of a cultivated iníellect, and the puré aífectionsof 
agentle spirit, it is truly beautiful; and as with the lantern, 
we see the lines and figures that adorn it, only as the lamp 
within, shines through" them, so we see the lineaments of th8 
countenance to the best advantage, when the imprisoned soul 
shines foríli, giving expression and life to its lines. 

As the plástic material of the stafuary, indurares into a 
permanent expression, beneath the touehes of his genius, so 
the living countenance gradually assumes that fixed and 
settled expression, which enables us to determine the cast of 
soul within. Here are two visible illustrations of this : 




No one, not even the child, needs the least word of advice, 



Diogenes. 



ANIMATED NATÜBE. 137 

relative to the choice of a companion; a language more con- 
clusive than words, endears him to the one, with a power 
which only flnds a parallel in the fear and abhorrence with 
which he would shrink from the other. How striking the 
contrast ! The mildly-beaming eye, the softened cheek, the 
open brow, and the calm, sweet expression of the mouth, in the 
one; and the deep lines of passion, the demoniac eye and the 
disheveled hair in the other, cannot possibly be misunderstood. 

"She rerainds me of Eve, before the Almighty infused the 
breath of life into her," is the remark once made by a gen- 
tleman, on seeing a lady of faultless syrnmetry of features, 
but sadly deficient in expression; a remark, though rather 
harsh, involving much truth. To resort to the simile of the 
lantern, if it is clark, the presumption is, that there is little 
light within; in other words, little feeling, little soul. 

It was remarked that this language is common both to man 
and the inferior animáis. This, every one has seen in the 
flashing eye, or the retracted lip of the eanine race; in the 
arching, bristling back of the cat, the laid back ears of the 
ill-tempered horse, and the mild, intelligent eye of the eie- 
phant, and the dog. One would think that my artist consider- 
ed the case a difficult one to make out, from the specimen of 
humanity which he has sketched below; the head of an idiot. 





I had thought of proposing a question, relatiye to the 



138 LANGUAGE OF 

comparative superiority of expression in an ordinary human 
countenance, and a Newfoundland dog, but query or com- 
ment is unnecessary, and I pass them over in silence. 

The eye, too, has been the íheme of the philosopher, and 
the bard, and a worthy one it is. Through its crystal orb, 
the light of intellect shines the clearest, if it shines at all; 
through this the soul can speak, wheñ words are denied, and 
the tongue falters. Who has not read and felt its language? 
No matter in what unseemly molcl the features may have 
been cast; no matter how dark the tinge which summer suns 
may have given them; no matter how harshly the voice may 
grate upon the ear; whether ít rumbles like disíant thunder, 
or, shrieks and breaks like the noise of a file, or assumes 
the dissonant alto of the toothless crone; if this light of the 
features is there; if 

"That puré, though captive effluence of the sky, 
The vestal-ray, the spark that can not die,' 1 

gleams out in this glorious mirror of the soul,- this possession 
redeems them all. We may turn to the features and be re- 
pulsed, but we look upon the eye and are fascinated; we turn 
to the former, and a light and a beauty radiating from the 
latter, lend them a grace and glory, not their own. In the 
apostrophe of Mrs. Hemans : 

"Throne of expression ! ivhence the spirit's ray 
Pours fortli so oft the light of mental day, 
Where fancy's fire, affection's melting beam, 
Thought, genius, passion, reign in turn supremo. 
And many a feeling, words can ne'er impart, 
Finds its own language to pervade the heart; 
Thy power, bright orb, what bosom hath not felt, 
To thrill, torouse, to fascinale^ to melt f 
And by some spell of undefined control, 
With magnet-influence touch the secret soul !" 



ANIMATED NATÜRE. 139 

íf such is the power of the eye, when lighted up with genius, 
when purity and truth are mirrored there; what must it be, 
if that light be darkness; how profound the gloom ! One 
pair of eyes, I shall ever remernber, and I regret to say, their 
owner was a womán ! It is long since I met their gaze, 
but even now, as I think of them, an indefinable feeling • 
of uneasiness and fear steals over me; such a feeling, as 
some contend, warns a sleeping person, that one is standing 
by him, and looking intently upon his closed lids. It was 
not that those eyes were brilliant, or black, or piercing; but 
it was something, for which "coats and humors" could not ae- 
count; of whicK the oculist, prqfessionally, knows nothing. 
It always seemed to me as through a spirit-cloud, darle and 
fearful, and freighted — hoto, I daré not say, rested heavily 
upon those orbs and weighed them down. Now and then, I 
saw lightning-fiashes there; not like the purifying principie, 
that consumes the noxious exhalations which íaint the air, 
but scorching, withering gleams, and when I saw them, I must 
confess I thought those eyes their most befitting home. It is 
impossible for me to convey, by cold words, laid out corpse- 
like, upon this page, any adequate idea of the language 
which loomed gloomily out, at those mental casements. She 
smiled sometimes, but such a smile ! It seemed as if her real, 
laughing muscles, (Zygomaticus minor,) were refractory, and 
her sneering, contemptuous ones, (Masíoideus and Depressor 
anguli oris,) remarkably obedient, and fairly pulled down the 
angles of her mouth, despite the utmost contractions of their 
antagonists. There was no mistaking the expression; a be- 
nevolent smile did not sit gracefully upon her dial-plate. 

To the different species of laugh, combining as they do, 
yocality and visibility, I will allude hereafter. 

Some individuáis possess a greater command over their 



140 LANGÜAGE OF 

muscles than others. Garrick, an English comedian, of 
much celebrity, of whom it was quaintly remarked, that he 
made an alphabet of faces, possessed this command of his 
rauscles in an eminent degree. It is related of him, that 
passing 'along the street one day, and observing a hackney 
coach standing at the comer, awaiting passengers, as is usual 
in large cities, he hailed the driver, inquiring, if he had made 
out his complement. "No, sir — get in," was the prompt reply; 
upon which Garrick speedily appropriated to himself, one sea* 
in the empty coach. Presentí y, another man presented him- 
self; another, and another enteredthe carriage, until the driver, 
supposing the seats were all oecupied, prepared to drive off, 
when a man, panting for breath, (books and umbrellain hand,) 
hailed him with "stop, driver ! another passenger," and had 
already seized the door, when he was coolly informed that he 
could not beaccommodated. He reiterated loudly, thatthere 
was room enough for half a dozen; as is often the case, a 
great altercation about a little matter, ensued, the driver con- 
stantly affírming that there was no room, and the tenacious 
would-be passenger, as often giving him the lie. At length 
the driver dismounting in a rage, looked into the vehicle, 
when lo ! to his infinite chagrín and astonishment, he saw 
nobody but our hero snugly ensconced in one córner, quietly 
aivaiting the result of this strange controversy. This was 
totally incomprehensible to the poor coachman, but we can 
easily solve the mystery, by our knowledge of the muscles. 
Garrick, loving laughter more than he did the interest of the 
coachman, had, through an expressive countenance, succeed- 
ed in passing for five different individuáis, in the space of 
half an hour, oddly illustrating the motto of our national 
banner, "Epluribus imum" from many, one. 

The power of the countenance in enforcing the words ut- 



ANIMATED NATtJRE. 141 

tered, and in expressing many ideas without the existence of 
artificial language, has been known and acknowleclged in all 
ages. The Greeks recognized -this power in their fabled 
Medusa, whose hcad was covered with snakes instead of hair, 
and whose glance transformed the beholder into stone. 

In the light of the preceding explanations, may we not 
reasonably conclude, that the "mark" which the Almighty 
set upon Cain, the first murderér, was ordy the shadowing 
forth in his countenancé, of the dark passion and conscious 
guilt, and ceaseless apprehension, which must ever agitate 
the bosom of the fratricide? Such is.-the inimitable mechan- 
ism of the nerves and müscle's, as the instrumenfs of natural 
language, exhibiting in every Une, the wisdom and bcnevo- 
lence of their Author. The spirit's own harp, every stríng is 
tuned by her, and íhrills to each touch of immaterial thought. 
So simple, andyet so complicated is iís structure, that ií givcs 
forth different tones of feeling, with so slight physical va- 
riation that even the painter's pencil cannot catch them. 

When Peter of Cortona, was engaged on a picturc for the 
royal palace of Petti, Ferdinand II, partieularly admired the 
representation of a weeping chile!. "Has your Majesty," 
said the painter, ¿c a mind to see how easy it is to malee this 
very child laugh?' J The king asseníiñg, the artisí, merely 
depressed the córner of the lips and the inner extremity of the 
eyebrows, when the little urchin seemed in danger of burst- 
ing his sides with immoderate laughter, who, a moment be- 
fore, seemed breaking his heai't with weeping. 

The child of six years oíd, when engaged in carrying out 
its little plans, is, in countenancé and gesture, as truly an 
orator as the oíd Athenian or the silver-tongued Román. 

Wonderful indeed is the instrument of expression ! From 
the parted lip, dimpled cheek, and confiding eye of the infam, 



142 LANGUAGE OF 

(infaní* in all else I mean,) to the joy-flush and the hope- 
gleam, that glow and play upon the countenance of the youth; 
from the heaving bosom, the throbbing temple and the care- 
written brow of the middle-aged, to the last thrillings of the 
instrument beneath the spirit's touch, as it quivers upon the 
bloodless lip, tinges the sunken cheek, and gleams with an 
unearthly brilliance from the fast-glazing eye of the gray- 
haired, dying man, as if, just then, likc some mountain's peak, 
it had caught the glory of the coming day, whose bound he 
is rapidly nearing; through all this, up to the moment when, 
laying down the oíd, worn harp, he awaits the time, when he 
shall fetrike a new and more glorious instrument of like pat- 
tern, but of imperishable material, this specimen of matchless 
skill, has been a companion faithful and true ! Who can 
help exclaiming, in the wéll known words of the poet ? 
"Strange that a harp of thousar.d string», 
Should keep in tune so bng!" 



Literally, not speakinj 



ANIHATED NATUEE. 143 

CHAPTER X. 

External apparatus of insects — The gnat — The cicada — The 
house cricket — The ratilesnáke — The death-watch — Natural 
language of cries — Voice — The larynx. 

The external apparatus by which certain animáis are en- 
abled to express their feelings to one another, now claims our 
attention. The individuáis which are thus endowed, are 
comparatively féw in number; and but little diversity is ex- 
hibited in the mechanism of their organs of language. 

This médium of communieation though audible, cannot be 
eonsidered, stricíly speaking, as vocal, for such a language 
presupposes the possession of lungs and a larynx, which is 
not found in those insects and reptiles that are thus furnished 
with musical apparatus, as I nave chosen to desígnate it inthe 
table. 

Among the myriad tribes that dance so gaily upon the yel- 
low beams of the summer sun, no insect is better known than 
lúe gnat. From the days when Spenser sung, 

"Their murmurririg small trumpets sownden widc, 
While in the air their clust'ring army flics," 

down to the present time, the gnat has been eonsidered the 
very chief of ephemeral trumpeters. Indeed the compliment 
is not undeservec!, though a moment's thought will convince 
us that the soft music which floats upon the still air of even- 
ing, from invisible hosts, is not vocal, but sírictly instrumen- 
tal. The various shape and texture of their wings, and their 
unequal rapididy of vibration, as they thus fairly leat the 
air into melody, are amply sufficient to account for the vari- 
ety of tones from the banqueíing note of the moscheío, to the 



144 LANGUAGE OF 

dronish hum-drum of the stag-beetle; one, which even a deií- 
cate ear cannot fail to detect. 

Among the "quivering nations," the gay midge, a species 
of gnat, may be mentioned, that, v/ith jelty coat and snowy 
wings, dances its little lifc away to a piping note, similarly 
produced. Of the same description are the hum of the house- 
fty and the ordinary buzz of the bee; but I havenotalluded to 
these insects, because the sounds thus produced, can be con- 
sidered as-a species of language, but rather, to refute a pop- 
ular error, which the expressions of some authors, and espe- 
cially poeís, would tend to confirm. But when I speak of 
the death-watch or ptinus fatidicus, of the cricket, of the 
Pulsatorium or ticíc-watch, I would be understood as having 
immediate-reference to language. The death-watch, whose 
measured strokes of seven, nine or eleven, have often been 
the signal for a hasty evacuation of the premises, of which 
the ill-omened creature has taken possession, produces these 
sounds by rearing itself upon its hind-legs, and then striking 
its horny frontlet against some hard substance. This mid- 
night tatíoo, is simply the language of courtship, which these 
little créatures e-mploy. And why should tliey be slandered, 
for, availing themseives of a privilege which their ñeighbora 
who are so much annoyed, are far from undervaluing? They 
may be heard during the day, talking in this manner most 
amicably. The goat-chaffer or cerambyx uíters a shrill 
shriek of fright, by rubbing its chest against its wing-shell. 
One of the most interesting instan'ces of sound, not to say 
voice, produced by animáis not having a larynx, is found in a 
species of ítalian grasshopper. The musical apparatus of 
this insect, consists of several winding cells, separated into 
apartmenís by membrane partitions, (a white, thin net-work,) 
having two narrow openings communicating with the air, 



ANIMATED NATUKE. 145 

which are closed by val ves. In the centre of these cells or 
passages, is a sonorous trianglé. Connected wiíh the valves 
are two strong museles, by the action of which, the cells are 
supplied with air, which is forced so powerfully agáitist the 
trianglé, as to produce the loud, clear notes of the grasshop- 
per's song. The musió of the cicada was extolled by the 
bards of oldcn time, in no measured strains, and the eloquence 
of Plato suffcred, only in comparison vvith the soft melody of 
the tettix. Xcnorchus, the Rhodian poet, alluding to the si- 
lence of the femále, hasthis very ill-natured and ungallant 
couplet : 

"ílappy tho cicadas' Uves, 
Since th'ey all Jiavc voiccless wives." 

Whether he was or not, he certainly deserved to be a bache- 
Ior for life. 

The singular apparatus in the tail of the rattle-snake and 
western Massasanga, though generally considered as a sort 
of warning to the'umvary pedestrian, is strictly an instrument 
of language, not so much for the welfare of its mortal enemy 
as its own. That its sharp rattle, sounding from the grass, 
beats a quick retrcat for the siroller, is undeniable, but at the 
same time, no such benevolent motive, actuates its ownerj 
for it is none other than an alarm-signat, or a means of com- 
munication with its lovely companions. 

There is onc littlc creature, however, which thosc who che- 
rish the recollcctions of childhood, would scarcely p'árdon, 
me for omitting in this sketch: the house cricket. Iíoav does 
its very ñame unlock the sealed fountains of our simpler, but 
I hesitate not to say, pui'er affections. How often, when the 
bustlc of the d ay was hushed, and the twilight hour flu'ng its 
soothing influence over us, and made us thoughtfulj and the 
tea-kettle, suspended from the topmost hook, hummed its mo" 



146 LANGUAGE OF 

notonous but lulling song, have we listcned to the lively chirp 
of the unseen cricket, beneath the hearth; and when perhaps, 
its long feelers and glossy head appeared for, an instant. at 
some crevice, with what strange interest did we gaze upon the 
little hérmií. When the winíer's fire was heaped, and crack- 
ling and blazing, it threw its cheerful light to the farthest cór- 
ner of the spacious kitchen, and the laugh echoed round, still 
would the cricket's glee, the one note of its little life be 
heard over all. 

Happy are you, if you can say, that no loved voice, with 
which that song was mingled, is now stilled in death. 

The sound which the cricket produces, probably suggested 
its ñame, resembling the syllables "cree, cree." It is not 
produced by an apparatus similar to any which has been de- 
scribed, but by beating its wing-cases together, as a boy clajs 
his hands when rejoiced. I cannot cióse my remarks upon 
this little insect, more appropriaíely, than by quoting a síanza, 
which, though unknovvn to fame, is true to nature; for upon 
whose ear so dull, does its vesper-song ever pall? 

''Sprightly cricket, chirp again ! 

The crackling faggots briskly Llnze ; 
Prithee, quit tliy dusky den, 

Sing in lighl, thy mcrrylays!" 

With these few examples of the exíernal apparatus of lan- 
guage, I leave this part of the subject. I know not what ef- 
fect, the formidable array of insecís and reptiles which I have 
so frequently marshaled for your inspection, may have pro- 
duced, but I sincerely hope that it has been no injurious one. 

Allow me now to direct your attention to another, and per- 
haps the most interesting species of natural language; tothat 
produced by the organs of voice. Nothing in the material 
world, so quickly arrests the attention, or so deeply afíects 



ANIMATED NATURE. 147 

the heart, as vocal sounds, whether produced by the dog, 

•'That wljines a welcomc home," 
or the desoíate note of the bird that mourns its lost offspring, or 
the inarticulate carolings of the happy child. This exqui- 
site sensibility to sounds, has its origin in the innate sympa- 
thies of our nature, and the beautiful structure of the organ 
of hearing. Indeed, to a superficial observar, it would seem 
that we need go no farther for an adequate. cause, than the 
very formation of the avenues through which pei'ceptions of 
the external worl'd are acquired. Light, that subtile element, 
ever fíowing frorn the sun, and reflected from every object in 
nature, accurately and instantaneously linms, upon the deli- 
cate ñerve of visión, an ethereal copy; so spirit-like, we can 
almostthink it immaterial, and we only knów it to be matíer, as 
we are able to perceive it by a physical sense. On the other 
liand, the impressions made upon the ear are of a difFerent 
and grosser nature. Sóund seems to advance farther into the 
earthly portals-of the mental palace, andto claim admittance 
with a sort of maieriality, of which we are not so sensible in 
the case of light. We can feel it in the rush of air upon the 
disebarge of a piece of heavy ordnance, and in the rapid vi- 
brations of the blown ilute; and v/e can see it — its effeets at 
least, in the quiverings of the church bell. This, together 
with the fact, that every vocal sound, whether articúlate, or 
inarticulate, is in itself a language, either naturally or con- 
ventionally, lends so much more of interest to audible than 
to visible impressions. Every undulation of sound bears 
with it, an element of emotion, feeling, or passion, which dif- 
fuses itself throughout the whole volume, tinging every tone, 
regulating every cadenee, and giving to the sound itself, its 
own peculiar quality. Upon this natural conformation of the 
voice to the feelings, is founded a natural, vocal language. 



148 LANGTJAGE OF 

Tt is now proper to examine the mechanism of the organs 
of voice; together constituting an instrumenta vvhich has ex- 
citecl the wonder, and elicited the admiration of mcn in all 
ages of the world. Strange, indeed, would it be, were one 
such instrument all that could be found in a town, a county, 
or even a state, if musical amateurs, and scientific men did 
not visit it; if descriptions of its construction did not find 
place in the manüals for our primary schools, and accounts of 
its tone and power fill the colunias of our public journals. 
How passing strange is it then,. that when its melody salutes 
our ears from rocking spray and beriding bough, by nightand 
by day; when every individual posscsscs such an instrument, 
as a part of his system, of wbieh no one can deprive him, 
that very many live, and live lóng: and dic, ignorant of its 
construction, ignorant of its power ! 

Milton terms the human face, divine, and well he may,-for 
the complicated and peculiar mechanism of the facial mus- 
cles, for the purposes of expression, cannot fail to strike the 
comparative physiologist. In other animáis, the function is 
distiibuted over diñerent parts of the body, and we as readily 
look elsewhere for indication of feeling, as in the face; in the 
game cock, at the ruffof feathers about the neck; and in the 
lion, at the bristling mane; but in the man, they seem con- 
centrated in the countenance. The inimitable net-work of 
the skin, and the exquisite variations in color, of which it is 
susceptible, seem especially to fit the human face, for the 
Spirit's own telegraph. As the screens upon which the artist 
traces trees and shrubs, withchemical preparations of cobalt, 
are invisible, except they are placed near the fire, when each 
bud and leaf and flower, takes on its peculiar hue, with a 
rapidity more magical than the opening of a Lapland spring, 
so when that ethereal spark within is kindled, the face betrays 



ANIMATED NATÜEE. 149 

in each gTowi'ng line and eloquent feature, what, indeed, it 
was never designed to conceal. 

But whoever contemplates this organization, made of dust, 
it is true, controlled by muscles, and under the influence of 
mind as the other is, but productive of sounds which embody 
in their tones, thought, feeling, soul itseJf, if he, possessea 
a cultivated ear, and a heart exquisitely alive to the impres- 
sions made upon that organ, can unhesitatingly change the 
line of the blind bard, and pronounce the human voice, "di- 
vine." 

An individual accustomed to observe, though ignorant of 
the construcíion of the physical frame, cannot withhold him- 
self from the conclusión, that the mechanism of organs ca- 
pable of producing such a vast variety of sounds, must be 
inimitable. Indeed, as an instrument, capable of every va- 
riety of sound, from the low, deep bass, which the organ 
vainly strives to excel, up to the highest notes of the octave, 
the organs of voice must ever remain unequaled. Rivaling 
the ""soft-complaining flute," and surpassing the "ear-piercing 
fife," it combines the clarion's mildness with the soul-stirring 
energy of the trumpet's tone. But as a splendid manifesta- 
tion of the wisdom of God, it demands our admiration and 
gratitude — who, wheii He would make us social beings, 
bound us by this chain so wonderful, that while stern neces- 
sity forbids us to sever it, an enlightened love of happiness 
impels us to draw more closely and poli.sh and strengthen it. 

Voice then is sound produced by the action of certain or- 
gans, in a great measure tuned and controlled by the mind, 
through the nerves, and these again acting upon the muscles; 
and voice, is also the material, of which artificial vocal lan- 
guage is made, by the mpvement and contact of certain or- 



150 



LANGÜAGE OF 



gans of the mouth which will be considered, in connection 
with the analysis of alphabetical sounds. 

Here are two views of that wonderful instruraent, the 
voice-machine, as it may be appropriately termed : 
1 1 




1-1 Os hyoides, or U-shaped bone. 2-2 Corn ua, or horns 
of the os hyoides. 3-3 Superior horns of the thyroid carti- 
lage. 4 Epiglottis, or val ve of the wind-pipe. 5-5 Aryie- 
noid, or funnel-shaped cartilages. 6 Thyroid, or shield-like 
cartilage, or Pomum Adami. 7-7 Inferior or lower horns 
of the thyroid cartilage. 8 Cricoid, or ring-like cartilage. 
9-9 Trachea, or wihd pipe. 

Such is the general construction of the Larynx, composed' 
as we have seen, of five clastic cartilages, articulated or 
jointed together by those projections called horns, and secure- 
ly bound by ligaments or cords. These cartilages are mov- 
ed by seven pairs of máseles, which acíing separately, in 
pairs, or in combination with the whole, are capable of pro- 
ducing more than sixíeen thousand different movements. 
These muscles, however, though possessing such wondrous 



ANIMATED NATtTRE. 



151 



power, are but a few of the active agents in the production of 
the volee. Fifteen pairs attached to the cartiíáges or os 
hyoides, are constantly émployed as antagonista and directors, 
and these, when co-operating with those previously mentioned, 
are susceptible of 17,592,186,044,415 changes ! This is not 
all: taking into consideration the different degrees of velocity 
and forcé with which they are brought into action, varying so 
materially the qualityof the voice, the list of changes would 
be almost doubled. The faets are not yet told ! All the parts 
that act upon the air, either directly or indirectly, and all the 
muscles that receive nerves from the respiratory system, are 
called into action in the production of voice;. and when we 
rernember that every movement of the machinery, produces 
a variation of sound, in some particular, the power of the 
organs of voice, becomes almost inconceivable. Such, reader, 
süch is the mechanism of an instrument which 

- — — "the wealth of Ormuaor of Ind," 
could not procure for him who does not. possess it, and of 
which the poorest peasant cannot be deprived, by his relent- 
less creditor. 

These organs combine in íheir construcíicn, the Eolian 
Harp, and the valvular or key trumpet or common ilute; but 
perhaps as the lungs act as bellows in propelling air through 
the instrument, some part of it may, with greater propriety, 
be compared to a church Organ. The wind pipe or trachea, 
(9) is the tube through which the air passes ío and from the 
lungs in the act of respiration. It is formed chiefly of im- 
perfect rings of cartilage or gristle; the openíng behind, how- 
ever, being closed up with other parts, in order that there 
may be a perfect tube. These rings being elastic, serve to 
keep the tube always open, while their flexibility accommo- 
dates it to any position of the neck. Some instances are re- 



152 LANGÜAGE OF 

corded, in which this tube became ossified, viz : changed to 
bone, in which case, the mode of capital punishment in this 
country, woúld not destroy life by strangulation. This is 
the pipe to the bellows or lungs, and they together constitute 
the organ part of the vocal apparatus. 

The wind pipe is surmounted by a triangular box, of the 
same material as the tube, the greater prominence of which, 
in the man, constituyes the difterence in the neckof the sexes. 
This box is called the Larynx, better known to many, by the 
ñame of Adam's Apple, from an oíd story with which every 
body is familiar, that when Adam attempted to swallow the 
forbidden fruit, it lodged in his throat, and is thus transmitted 
to his posterity, as a memorial of his fall. At the upper 
edge of this box, is attached a bone, in the form of the letter 
U. It serves to keep the Larynx constantly open, and also 
for the attachment of several muscles for the contraction and 
dilatation of -this box, which alone is the seat of the voice. 
Just below the epiglotíis, (4) is a simple slit or chink, the di- 
ameter of which, is graduated by a number of very delicate 
muscles, which, together with íhose that increase or dimin- 
i'sh the size of the Larynx, answer the exact purpose of the 
finger holes in the flute. 

The base of this instrument is the Cricoid cartilage, (8) so 
cailed from its resemblance to a seal-ring, the broad surface 
of which is visible in the posterior view. The target-like 
figure on the front part of the thyroid cartilage (6) is intend- 
ed to represent the Pomum Adami, constituting the boss of 
the shield. The Epiglottis is a ya] ve which may be seen by 
depressing the tongue. This beautiful cartilage is attached 
to the thyroid, the os hyoides and the base of the tongue; it 
is emphatically a safeiy. val ve, for itcloses.íhe glottis while 
in the act of swallowing. How unreasonable for one tosup- 



ANIMATED N ATURE. 153 

pose that he can talk and eat simultancously with impunity ! 
The arytenoid cartilages (5-5) and íhe mechanisrn connect- 
ed with them deserve particular attention. ííere we find the 
mouth-piece or reed of the instrument — íhe curious ligaments 
oí' the rima glotíidis or chink of the glottis. On examination, 
we discover two clefts; the superior orie is ten or eleven lines 
in length, and two or threo in vvidth, of a triangular shape. 
Two folds of the mucous membrane which lines the interior 
surface of the Larynx, are extended from the arytenoid car- 
tilages to the epigloííis, and are cá'ILcd the superior vocal 
coras. A short distance below, is an opcnuig of similar 
shape, extending from the thyroid cartiíage in front, to a 
muscle which unites the arytcnoids. Along the s-ides of íhis 
aperture also, two ligaments are st-reíehéd; appositely termed 
the inferior vocal cords. These delicatc harp-sírings may 
be relaxed or made tense by the action of several little mus- 
cles, answcring the purpose of keys.iri a violin. Now, in the 
simplest form of the Eolian harp, fine silkéh threads are ex- 
tended upon two bridges, an incli or two above a board, pre- 
pared for the purpose. When filis is placed in the window 
frame, with the sash brought down nearly in contact with the 
strings, the passing breeze causes them to víbrate, producing 
musical sounds, high, low, soft and loud, in proportion to the 
tensión of the strings, and the action of íhe air. Here, then, 
is the Ilarp parí of íhe insírument. Experiment has conelu- 
sively shown that these cords and the intervening space, are 
the essential organs of voice; that previous to the producíion 
of a single sound, the chest must be compressed, the glot- 
tis adj usted, the larynx elevated or depressed, and íhe phar- 
ynx* contracted; that the muscles of expiration act, and íhe 



Tubt; by which food js taken into t¡)G stomach, 



154 LAXGITAGE OF 

air is propelled into the larynx; thatthe key-muscles adjust 
the cords properly, and thc air receives the vibrations, whence 
sound results, and last, though by no means the least impor- 
tant, that volition controls the whole; for, ifthis were not the 
case, every contraction oí" the chest, and consequent expiraticn 
of air, >yould be attended by a sound, as is the action of i 1 1 _ 
adj usted machinery. 

The larynx is the oiily organ necessarily employed in 
singing, and the chief instrument in all natural language; 
and ir is not improbable, that the ruder forms of artificia] 
language were spokén mostly fróni the throat, as indced the 
dialeeís of the American Iudians indicate, for a child wííí 
hardly fail to observe that the Aborigines rarely bring the 
organs cf their mouths in contact", in speaking their own lan- 
guages. For example, take the íciiowing ñames of persons 
and places: Opecancanough. Onondaga,Yonondio, Kekataugh, 
Kaihóhág'e. The language of the South Sea Islanders 
abounds so greatly in vocal or glottis sounds, that they can- 
pp't pronounce a word íoaded with rriouth-soünds orconsonants. 
As a speeimen, the ñame of one of their kings may be raen- 
tioñed : Ta-ma-ha-ma-ka ! From a knov.dcdge of these facts, 
yon Víill more readily understand how an individual might 
employ artificial language, sing admirably, and sti.ll be des- 
titute of a tongue; many well authenticated accounts of siích 
instanccs are recorded, from the earliest age te the present; 
but it is unnecessary to give them in deíaib. Dóprive man 
of the larynx, andeommunitics wou'ld be bound by a slenderer 
tie; the song of praise would no longer be wafted on tht 
morning or the evening breeze; the social circle dissolved: 
man would wander over the earíh, distrustful of bis féllow; 
the nobler sentiments of bis nature locked up in his own bo- 
som. and the plaint of want unsupplied, the lamentation of 



ANIMATED NATURE. 155 

unalleviated distress, and the exhibitioa of passion would be 
his only language. 

íí was remarkcd that the inferior vocal cords \vere cssen- 
tial ío the production of voice; by blowing íhrough the wind 
pipe of an animal, sborí after it is slain, you can produce a 
sound very similar to the natural voice of the animal, if the 
larynx remains unínjured; Tv.'o qaadrupcds, the Ant-eater 
and Pangolin, a kiricí of lizard, fóünd cnly in Hindostán, are 
entirely dumb. Upon examination of the íormer, it was 
found that the wiüd pipe was unusually short, and the upper 
part of it, the proper región of the larynx, insteád of cartí- 
lago or gristle, vras a structure of unyielding bon.e, which 
sumciently accounts for the sflence of the animal. 



CHAPTER X I. 

Vocal apparatus of lirds — The Mocking bird — Venir Uoquism — 
The voice as indicative of ' feeling or emotiva — Various ITlus- 
íraüons — Láiigliing — Whispering — Sighing. 

Voiee, as \ve have defined it, is common both to man and 
the inferior animáis, though varying iri quaiity, from the lay 
of the nightingale to the hrss of íhe serpent; from the clear 
melody of the lark, to the discordant shriek of the raven. 

A iittle observation wiil teach us, that there must be a 
great difference in the structure of the vocal apparatusin 
different animáis; a difference nearly proportioned to the dr- 
versity in the description and quaiity of the sounds which 
they are capable of producing. It is from some peculiarity 
ia the formation of the larynx, that the voice owes its quaiity 



156 LANGUAGE OF 

or tone; it is by some difference in this organ, that animáis 
are enabled to make tho.se peculiar sounds which character- 
ize them, and to purr, as the cat; neigh, as the horse; bark, 
as the dog; roar, as the lion; squeak, as the mouse; or low, 
as the ox. 

The larynx of the feathered race is peculiarly adapted to 
form that sweet and varied music, emphatically the poor 
man's minstrelsy, which so often rnakes our woods and fields 
"vocal, wiíh conccrt of sweet sounds." The immense power 
of voice, with which the feathered tribes make the forests ring, 
has often been a m.atter of remarle and astonishment. Our 
astonishment is changed into admiration, when we learn that 
the lungs of birds are connected with aerial cells, which ful 
the whole cavity of the body; that, more than this, the very 
bones are holíow, eommunicating even with the quills, so that 
a bird's entire physicai structure is nothing more than a liv- 
ing instrument of exquisito workmanship. 

The bagpipe is a musical wirid instrument, much used by 
the Flighlanders of Scotland, in tho performance of their wild 
but pleasing airs. It consists of a leathern bag communica- 
ting with the air by a tube closed wiíh a valve, and pipes of 
diíferent caliber, into which the airis forced by the performer. 
The lungs, trachea and larynx of birds, form a complete 
natural bagpipe; the lungs are the bao-, and supp'ly the wind, 
and the trachea and cells are the pipes. The larynx of birds 
is divided into two sections; one being placed at the lower 
part of the trachea, immediately above the branches to the 
lungs, and the other occiroying the usual position. The lower 
opening, then, is the reed or rnouth-piece, which produces the 
simple sound, and the upper opening, with its muscles, con- 
stitutes the ñnger-holes, which modify the simple sound into 
a variety of disíinct notes, 



ANIMATED NATURE. 



157 



We find, however, a considerable diversity in the shape and 
langth of the trachea, but of this, it is not necessary to speak. 
The notes of soft-billed birds are deeper and more mellow- 
toned than those of the hard-billed species, which are cheerful 
and rapid. This is owing to the greater width of the trachea 
ín the former class, and the fact that they sing more from the 
lower parí of the throat, as does the nightingale. 

Perhaps there is no bird more entitled to our notice, from 
the vast scope and variations of its voice thán the many- 
tongued, or Mocking bird. Indeed, I thought a delineation 
of this feathered ventriloquist, worthy a place in these pages. 
He re it is : 




The natural note of this bird is delightfully musical, but 
beyond this, it possesses a talent for imitating the notes and 
cries of other animáis, so exactly, as to deceive the very indi- 
viduáis that it attempts to mock. Imitating the warblings of 
M 



158 LANGUAGE OF 

little birds, it decoys them near it, and then pouring upon 
them, the screams of the hawk or some other bird of prey, 
drives them away with all speed. Does the school-boy whis- 
tle some familiar air, as he saunters along the copse-lined 
path? He starts at hearing the merry measures of "Yankee 
Doodle," returned, as accurately as a very echo, from the 
neighboring thicket. Does the laborer trundle his creaking 
barrow over the rough ground? Anotlier vehicle equally 
clamorous, sv/ells the concert, creaking and rattling along, 
apparently in the adjacent swamp. In short, the Mocking 
bird is the wag of his race and the pest of his neighbors. 

The most extraordinary instance of imitation in the human 
voice, consists in the art of ventriloquism. By this, the prac- 
tilioner can so modify his voice, as ío imitate the difterení 
tones of several persons conversing at a distance, and not 
only to imitate the cries of dogs, cats, and alrnost every other 
animal, but also to throw the sound from vvhatever quarter he 
chooses. Now issuing in smothered accents from beneath the 
floor; now of individuáis engaged in violent altercation, in 
the recesses of a side-board, and now, faintly imploring re- 
léase from a quart bottle standing upon the table. 

An individual is said to have amused himself, several years 
ago, by frequenting the fish-market at Edinburgh, and mak- 
ing a finny captive appear to speak, and give the lie to its 
vender, upon her afnrming that it was fresh and caught in the 
morning; the fish replying, as often as she made the assertion, 
"I have beendead aioeek, and you know it !" 

Ventriloquism has given rise to a variety of superstitions 
among those who are ignorant of the power of the vocal ap- 
paratus, and the great skill which may be attained by prac- 
tice, and perhaps in some instances, aided by a peculiar for- 
mation of the Larynx and its accompanying muscles. Ven- 



ANIMATED NATURE. 159 

íriloquists themselves, have attempted to explain it, but have 
never been successful; and though the ñame, ventriloquism, is 
still retained, it is by no meáris applicable, meaning, as it 
does, "chest or abdominal speaking." That this art is of a 
date as ancient as Grecian and Román glory, employed 
in the temples of their Gods, to give the responses, apparent- 
ly issuing from the marble lips of the idol, cannotbe doubted. 
The scientific, at the present day, seem to coincide in the 
opinion ; that a peculiar formation of the vocal organs, is not 
absolutely essentiah Indeed, a careful examination of the 
subject, convinces me, that the full, free and daily exercise 
of this- part of the physieal system, with a view to its devel- 
opment, is attended, (as it ever has been,) with results far 
more wonderful and important than any of which the ven- 
triloquist can boast; that it gives depth and tone to what is 
naturally the mere shadow of voice; that it transforms the 
distressed stammerer into the eloquent orator; that it adds 
strength to the strong; quickens hesitancy and difficulty of 
utterance, into readiness and facility, and almost unlooses the 
tongue of the dumb. We are acquainted with men, who, 
from a cióse attention to the vast variety of articulations and 
tones, and from a perfect command of the muscles of the 
Larynx, are able to produce acoustic delusions, not less ex- 
traordinary than the identical jugglers themselves, and 
this, too, without laying the least claim to be consid- 
ered ventriloquists. The celebrated Alexander could 
imítate three persons in conversation, and so skilfully swell 
and diminish the sounds, as almost to compel you, against 
the evidence of your eyes, to believe the speakers, now ap- 
proaching, and now receding. Our appreciation of the dis- 
tance and nature of a sound is formed from its intensity and 
quality; thus a deep, heavy sound, gradually increasing in 



160 LANGUAGE OF 

power, gives us the idea of strength and proximity. For this 
reason, persons are frequently alarmed at a peal of thuncler, 
though its cioudy lióme may be ascertained to a mathematical 
certainty, to be many miles distant. So when the sound 
from a known body, is more faint and indistinct, than when 
in our immediate vicinity, we are impressed with the idea 
that it is far off. As when the mountain or the forest only 
presents a dim outline to the eye, we are assured that many 
steps must be taken, ere we reach it, so indistinctness of 
sounds produces a similar impression. Of these principies, 
the ventriloquist avails himself, and by askilful management 
of his voice leads us at once into error. Imagination also, 
may have a considerable influence in producing the desired 
effect. Dugald Stewart gives some striking instances. 
Among others, he mentions a certain violinist, who directed 
the attention of his auditors to the instrument whence he 
seemed to draw out the delightful sounds, with many a dex- 
terous flourish of the bow, while in fact, every tone proceed- 
ed from his own mouth. Mr. Carey, who imitated the whis- 
tling of the wind through a crevice, sometimes practised the 
deception in the córner of a coffee-house, when to his great 
amusement, one gentleman would put on his hat; another 
button his coat, and a third, perhaps, would look about with 
the evident intention of shutting out the intruder that so an- 
noyed him. In the former instance, the eye assisted to make 
the delusion perfect; in the latter, the association between 
the sound of the fitful gust and a sensation of cold, was so 
strong, that one was almost a necessary accompaniment of 
the other. With regare! to the hollow tones of the ventrilo- 
quist, which the ignorant deem supernatural, Brewster re- 
marks that they are produced by a powerful action of the ab- 
dominal muscles. Ventriloquism, then, may be consideradas 



ANIMATED NATURE. 161 

an imitative art, which, though oñen discovered accidentally, 
may be acquired by nice discrimination, and long practice; 
sufficient, at least, for all purposes of effect. To the use of 
the crescendo* and diminuendo-f as they are termed, musical 
composers frequently resort. 

ín the sweet little song of Bishop Heber, commencing, 

"I eee th'em on their winding way," 
they might be introduced with beautiful efFect. Indeed, if I 
remember aright, they actually have been, bul however this 
may be, no one can entertain a doubt that such sounds would 
infuse into certain passages, a life and a beauty otherwise 
unknown; sounds, which I do not hesitate to say, rang in the 
spirit's ear of the sainted Heber, forming no small part of 
the beautiful conception. 

The voice is affected by the climate. The mild, soft airs 
of Italy, seem to lend it their own sweetness, and the cloud- 
less Italian skies, to give somewhat of clearness and beauty 
to the tone. In the 

"Thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice," 
the voice harsh and guttural, seems to shrink into the throat 
for shelter, presenting a contrast as striking, as the howling 
blasts of perenr.ial winter, and the gentle zephyrs of the 
sunny clime. The general health also, is not without its in- 
fluence; for a peculiarity in the tone of the voice, not unfre- 
quently betrays to the physician, the nature and seat of the 
disease which afflicts his patient. The breaking of the voice, 
as it is termed, of lads at a certain age, results from an en- 
largement of the vocal organs at that period, which, indeed, 
nearly doubles their size. Beside these, many other agents 
might be mentioned, which are constantly acting, to modify 



* Gradual increase of sound. t Dying away of sound. 



162 LANGUAGE OF 

the voice; not ío include the radical difference in quality, 
ai'ising from the varied formation of the vocal organs, without 
which, the anímate world would present one fearful scene of 
oonfusion'and misery. But there are influences more important 
than one, or all of these combined; influences which are ex- 
erted during every moment of conscious, social being; ever 
varying the tones and inodulations of the voice; now endow- 
ing it with terrino depth and power. and now shacling its 
tones with terror; now making ií flutter with agitation, and 
now lightening and quickening it with joy. This moment 
keying it to the high note of exultation; and the next, de- 
pressing it into the deepest recesses of the chest, with grief. 
Thus every feeling and emo'tion in the man, and every tumult 
of passion in the brute, is breathed forth in the voice. 

Three descriptions of voice are possessed by almost all 
animáis, having a Larynx; viz : one formed in the chest, 
and called by the Italian, thervoce de petío, or voice of the 
breast; another, which is the natural tone, without the depth 
and strength of the former; and third, the voce de testa, or 
voice of the head. From the relative position of the organs 
which particularly modify them, they may properly be termed 
the lower. middle and upper voices. Indeed, there seems to be 
a peculiar coincidence between the internal state, which the 
employment of these voices, severally discloses, and the phys- 
ieal organs which are employed in their production. The 
lower voice, the proper tone for the expression of deep sor- 
row, pity, love, in short of all those milder passions which, 
though they take strong hold of the heart, are not exhibited 
in the wild, and ungoverned outbursts of sound which cha- 
racterize excessive joy and exultation, whence could it more 
appropriately and naturally spring, than from Úiat very 
heart, which is, as ifthe gushing fountain, whose wealth is to 



ANIMATED NATUKÉ. 163 

freight the gathering sound, and give it sígníficañce and pow- 
er? Again, the ordinary voice, the médium of every-day in- 
tercourse, rather resembles the smooth flowing of the unruf- 
fled river, than the dashing, foaming cascades at the fountain 
head. The voce de testa, is the voice of joy, rage and an- 
guish. It is sometimes called the falsetto or feigned voice,; 
and being so far from the heart, why should it not be thus 
termed? Indeed, it is more readily assumed than its extreme, 
the voce de petto. Mr. Gardiner télls us, that once when 
passing the market-place, where a criminal was recciving 
the reward of his crimes, in a liberal application of the lash, 
his ear was saluted with the cries which the man designed to 
be expressive of intense suíFering. Mr. Gardiner, lío we ver, 
was convinced that the tones were simulated, and upon inqui- 
ry, actually found that the criminal had expressed a willing- 
ness to suffer a like castigation, for the paltry sum of half a 
crown. 

From this influence of feeling and passio'n upon the tones 
of the voice, natural vocal language derives its peculiar 
power and expression. 

Every one is prepared to acknowledge its existence in in- 
dividuáis of his own species; every one has heard and felt it 
in the crowing (I know of no better term) of the very infant, 
that has not yet learned the imitative language of its fellow- 
beings; and what mother has not felt the sympathies of her 
heart awakened, by the low. wailing tone of her suffering 
charge? Who has not been amused at hearing/Lhe inarticu- 
late language of joy and sorrow; of quarrel and reconcilia- 
tion among young children? And who would not detect, in 
the following notes, the voice of a spitefuí child v/antonly 
teazing its little mate?* 



* For the music whicli is introduced, I am indebted to Gardiner's 
Music of Nature. 



164 



LANGUAGE OF 




¡SglSSl 



ya-e ya-e ya ! 

This humor, which I regret to say, is sometimes evinced by 
"children of a larger growth," speedily passes away, and 
then, as they play happily together, hów changed the tones f 



:^:f:fcz-: 



H=t= 



sseeeS 



11 



•£-? 4 623-iaül 

Many a mother's ear has been saluted with sounds like 
the following, from some petted, and of course half-spoiled 
child : 



:i-l5l5sgií3gla¿iá 



Now she resorts to the natural language of endearment, 
which a mother best knows how ío eníp'loy : 




What makes the chords of sympathy thriil like the tones 
>f grief? 






With such expressions of natural language as I have 
mentioned, and many others which might be named, every 
one is familiar. But when we attempt to give it an extent, 
commensurate with the possession of vocal organs, and more 
than this, to consider it, iñ some respect, the result of educa- 
tion or experience, and in another, almost conventional, the 
ridicule ofsome, and the stubborn disbeliefof others, can nei- 



ANIHATED NATURE. 1G5 

ther discourage me on the one hand, ñor daunt me on ihe 
oíher. Reader, I do not apprehend that yon belongto either 
class, but rather, that you are one of those who adopt the 
motto, "read, reflect, and íhen judge." 

Slight as is our acquaintance v/ith the habiís and disposi- 
tions of the anímate world, there are but few individuáis, 
who, at some period in life, have not noticed how frequently 
the voice is employed, and how varied the feelings which are 
thus communicated, even though their observatory may have 
been a barn, and the sphere of their observations, the limits 
of the cattle-fold or the pickets of the poultry-pen. 

The wild scream of the wounded panther, sounding as if 
incarnate rage had lorn it from his very throaí, and 
the half-choking yell of the savage, are expressions of pas- 
sion, to which no set phrase of speech can possibly give vent. 
Infancy and age alike quail before such terrific displays of 
passion's demoniac mastery. The tone of exultation in man, 
and the clarion-cry of the victorious game-cock, have been 
noticed by every one. How different from the exclamation 
of joy in the former, and the defiance-note of the latter ! 

The purring of the feline species, is the very languageof 
coníentment. Who can mistake the complaining mew of the 
houseless cat, for the deep, desoíate tone of the same animal, 
as she wanders from room to room, seeking her little family, 
in vain? At last, when the anxious mother discovers them, 
snugly stowed away by some juvenile hand, in boxor basket, 
who does not rejoice in the light, rapid tones that tell her joy, 
or feels ashamed to sympathize with maternal affection, 
though manifested by "the brute that perisheth." The chick- 
en just escaped from the shell, twitters in joyful expectation,. 
when a little fly is presented to it; but substitute a wasp, and 
its voice instantly assumes a tone of disapprobation and 



183 LANGUAGE OF 

alarm. Gecso, too, slanderéd as the} r ave; the creatures to 
which everything, otherwise incomparably stupid, is likened, 
evcn geese bave languagc. In passing near their quarters, 
at night, when every loyal goose has carefully deposited her 
head beneath her wing, have you never observed a gander or 
two, on the alert, as gallant ganders should be, keeping watch? 
Did you not mark the peculiar gabble with which the wliite- 
robed sentinel saluted you, as if he said, "Stand ! who goes 
there?" What a bustle in the camp; v/hat a noisy conversa- 
tion ensued, and how differéñt the tone in which it was carried 
on ! They evidently rñistrüsted the proximity of their an- 
cieíit enemy, the fox. Then, as you passed on, making no 
assault, did you not distinguish another note still, expressive 
of returning security, which gradually died awa} r , till the 
móst loquacious had gabbled forth its last comment upon the 
averíed danger? To such a midnight signal as this, did 
R'ome's fortress once owe its preservation. Assault them in 
the day-tirae, and they will maniiest their contempt, with a 
liiss as expressive, as the fifth act of a dull play ever cailed 
forth. 

The cluck of tlie l¡en, with which she keeps her errant 
brood together; the low, persuasive tone with which she lures 
her little family under her wings; the clutíering note which 
announces the discovery of some bielden grain; the cry of 
alarm, at the appearance of the hawk, ecboing from tenant 
to tenant of the featherecl community, till the loud ko-e-ut, 
ko-e-ut of the turkey, and the harsh tone of the geese, swell 
the concert of fear, are all familiar sounds. What farmer's 
boy does not recognize the cackle of the hen when she leaves 
the nest, or when she brings off her brood? 

When the swine falls into the merciless hands of the buteh- 
er, how different his voice from the complacent monosyllable 



ANIMATED NATÜKE. 167 

with which he does honor to the yellow treasures of the crib; 
nnd how readily every individual of the genus grunter, in 
the neighborhood, catches the cry, and comes hastening, with 
porcupine back, to the rescuc. 

The horse, too, understands the natural language of his 
rider, and the dog, the mood of his master. There is truth, 
as well as poetry in Pope's oft-repeated couplet : 

"Theboundingsteed you pompously bcstride, 
Shares wilhliis ]ord, the pleasure and the pride. 1 ' 

A sooíhing sound allays his impetuosity; an encouraging 
one, curves his neck, and gives unwonted elasticity to his 
step; ypeak harshly to him, and how síriking the contrast ! 

The language of the canine race, for the expression of 
their feelings, is more copious than is generally supposed. 
Without being misled by a fanciful conceií, \ve may rea- 
sonably conclude that his singular companionship with as 
capricious an animal as man is, may have wrought changes 
in his vocabulary. The how I of ferocity is forgotten, and as 
his disposition is ameliorated, and the savage wildness of his 
habiís yields to the power of what, for want of a beííer term, 
may be called civilization, his language becomes proportion- 
ally mild. Your favorite dog is permittcd to accompany 
you in your walk. As he frisks and gambols with excess of 
joy, hear him ! 

Take care ! you have trodden upon his foot : 



168 LANGUAGE OF 

On another occasion, you have fastened him securely, in 
the barn. Untie the poor creature; listen to his expressive 
tones. 

48- 




Such are a few, a very few oí the expressions of natural 
language; drawn, not from the marvellous account of the 
traveler; not the fruit of wanderings in íhe forest, the desert, 
or the foreign land; but eollecíed about home; on th-e farm, 
if you please, and for this very reason, should be thrice val- 
ued. While I firmly believe that the whole range of anima- 
ted nature, presents a noble field for invesíigation, upon this 
subject; one, which long years of unwearied toil, would still 
leave half untraversed, and one, which I freely acknowledge 
I have not the ability to examine; yet enough has been said 
to establish the position, that even the bird in her nest, and the 
beast in his lair, possess.an intelligible, natural language. 

It now remains to speak of laughing, which, although it 
combines the language of the countenance, with that of íhe 
voice, may properly be mentioned in this connection. This 
expression of feeiing, may, perhaps be considered as peculiar 
to man; indeed, some vvríters have designated him as "the 
laughing animal.' 1 '' However this is, it is certain that crying 
would by no means distinguish him, for, íhough it has been 
frequently denied, yet we have the concurrent testimony of 
many respectable witnesses, for believing that tears trickle 
down the half-human face of the seal, when bereft of her 
young. 

A little observation will convince any one, that a laugh is 
as frequently the expression of malevolence, as of any amia- 
ble or pleasurable feeiing. Indeed a real thrill of joy is 



ANIMATED N ATURE. 169 

more frequently attended with symptoms of weeping, than 
othervvise. There are ahnost as many varieties of laugh, as 
there are dispositions among men. To someof these, I will 
briefly allude. Hark ! Hear that laugh in the street. It 
comes from one of that group of boys, "just let loóse from 
school;" it means nothing, and that is the beauty of it. It 
is like the silvery sound of a crystal brook, leaping from ledge 
to ledge, dancing and rambling along over the smooth-worn 
pebbles, like some glad, innocent thing. Such a laugh con- 
ceals nothing, for there is no care there; no sorrow; no bit- 
terness; it tells nothing, for the very sound is gladness made 
vocal. Will the child always laugh so, do you think? Will 
it never be changed into the suppressed exclamation, which 
tells of a fountain more bitter than Marah's waters? Who 
has not heard such a laugh; aye, aná'feü it too? O, for the 
branch that IsraePs leader cast into the wave of oíd ! We 
gladly turn from this to the good-natured, hearty laugh, that 
shakes íhe sides, expands the chest and banishes, far away } 
dyspepsy, and its horrid train. This laugh is contagious; 
every thing within hearing laughs too; men and women, rocks 
and hills. Then there is the laugh of mingled malice and 
exultation. Even this, the own begotten of depravity, is 
sometimes heard in the parlor and the drawing-room ! I 
cannot describe it; neither is it necessary that I should; but I 
can fancy a horde of banditti, gathered around their fire by 
night, while its lurid glare throws every line and lineament, 
traced and scarred by passion, into bold relief; I can see them 
as they lean towards each other, absorbed in the fearful in- 
terest of some tale of horror, recourited by a comrade; I can 
see them, as with hungry eyes they seem to devour each pre- 
cious word and syllable; and I can hear, yes hear that wild, 
demoniac shout; just such a shout as White's "twelve with- 
N 



170 LANGUAGE OF 

ered witches" raised; and just such a shout, as I have heard 
in no realm of fancy, but among civilized, enlightened, chris- 
tian men ! 

When you have been deeply interesfed in relating to a 
friend, something which you consider true and important; 
perhaps the result of patient study, which seems a treasure to 
you, and all the richer,because acquired by your own toil, have 
you never felt disheartened and chagrined, at that friend's 
reception of it? Noí because he turned abruptly away; not 
because he expressed one unfavorable opinión, but because 
an incredulous smile lurked about the corners of his mouth 
or eyes, (for some people laugh with their eyes, you knovv,) 
sayiñg with most gratifying emphasis, " I doiibt it." What 
a damper is such language to. a man's zeal ! Some people 
laugh, all to themselves, like a man who orders dinner for 
one; though an ungovernable chuckle sometimes escapes 
them, despite their selfishness. 1 knew a person v/ho always 
laughed thus; and í used to fancy that he enjoyed it extreme- 
ly; it seemed to linger so, about his heart. Washington was 
remarkable for this inly laugh, as it may be íermed. There 
is no laugh more incompatible with frail human nature, than 
that of exultation, whether over another's woes, or on account 
of some real or fancied advantage; it seldom falls sweetly 
on the ear; and upon none so harshly, as of him who is its 
subject. 

I can mention only one more e-xample of this species of 
natural expression; and though it is an inaudible smile, I 
may be allowed to introduce it in this place. I do not hope 
to describe it; it is not an angel's smile. O, no, if it were 
that, I might say so. The dream-smile that flits over the lit- 
tle features of a sleeping infant, is most like it of anything 
earthly, but it is far more glorious, even than that. It is a 



ANIMATED NATÜRE. 171 

smile that thrills the soul of the beholder; ií makes the friv- 
olous, thoughtful, and the gay, grave. It illumines the 
Gountenance, but not with the light of the sun; a strange, 
fearful radiance; the soul- light from within, and the light of 
Eternity from without, are blended there. Do you know 
what smile I mean, reader? 

In eaph of the various expressions, which I have just enu. 
merated, there is some tinge of passion, or some mingling of 
bitterness, or some element of human frailty; but that to 
which I now alinde, is purer, holier; mortal yet, the magic 
dial has flung its last earthly shadow, and only stays its dis- 
solutiojí for a moment, to reflect, what glacial-cliff ñor sil- 
ver lake has never caught — the light of endless day ! That 
dial, reader, and that smile, are the countenance and the smile 

Of THE DYING CHRISTIAN. 

With this, I must cióse my notices of Natural Language. 
But when I review the preceding pages, I can scarcely recog- 
nize in the faint resemblance, the mental original, which sat 
for it. So dim in outline, so broken and confused in manner, 
it seems as if the interesting views and the valued thoughts, 
(interesting and valuable at least to me,) had been touched 
by the wizard's wand, as one by one they were transferred 
to the more during characters of legible language, and a 
heap of dry and withered leaves, alone remained, for the 
bright gold, of which I was the fañcied possessor. 

I am consoled, however, by the recollection of how slight 
a cause first awakened an interest upon this subject in my 
own mind, and how trifling the encouragement, which has 
stimulated me to investigaron and lured me on, step by step, 
to the results of which this volume is only a tithe. Such re- 
membrances, allow me to hope that I have not written in vain; 
that you, too, may be interested, instructed, and what is more, 



172 LANGUAGE OF ANIMATED N ATURE. 

induced to examine this subject for yourself. I need not tell 
you of the materials which are strewn every where around 
you, with a lavish hand; of the varied and delightful con- 
templations of which language is a worthy and ennobling 
theme; of the intímate relation which it sustains to our whole 
being, interwoven, as it is, with every thing that can enlist 
the feelings or touch the heart; with all that is calleckhought, 
and all that bears the impress of mind. I need not tell you, 
that consciousness will whisper approval from within; that 
the constant dísclosure of new beauties and excellencies will 
proclaim success from without; that laden with the cares of 
a troublous life, you will, nevertheless, turn from time to 
time, to contémplate language, ever finding some field unex- 
plored, some widerange untraversed; that thus it will be, till 
the last expiration shall sigh along the ethereal tube, of 
mind's nóblest instrument, the Organs of Voice. 

I need not particularize farther, for if you have put forth a 
single effort, for the acquisition of mental weaíth; if you 
have advanced a single step into the great treasure-house of 
knowledge, you know that a new and more glorious creation 
sprang into being at that effort, heaved into view at that step, 
at first partly visible, but ever expanding with the diiaíing 
pupil of the mental eye, to what limit, who can tell ! 



PART THIRD, 
LANGUAGE OF REASON 



CHAPTER I 



Man a mystery — How an artificial language isformed — Excla- 
mations — Man a social being — Imitative language — Sounds — 
Scripiural account ofthe confusión qftongues — Illustrations — 
The original language — The western Indians — Tributaries to 
íhe English language — Its present vast extent. 

Man is emphatically a living, breathing mystery. Mys- 
tery is stamped upon his brow, written in every lineament of 
his countenance, elaborately traced in every delicate nerve 
and folded in every muscle. Mortal and immortal ! This ema- 
nant from God; that springing from dust; this soaring to Him 
who gave it; that "earth to earth !" The perishable and 
imperishable are bound so intimately in his being, that, for 
what we know of the one, we are indebted to the other, and 
the crowning beauty of the former, is but the faint, feeble re- 
flection of the latter. He is placed in this beautiful world, 
where every object, from the stars that illumine the nightly 
canopy, to the tiniest flower in the low vale, eloquently de- 
clares that the tenant and the dwelling are the creation of the 
same Almighty Hand. 

Imagine this noble being, mus gloriously endowed, to be aman 
in stature, but an infant in mind, unacquainted_with language, 
and a new comer upon earth. Let us suppose that no day has 
yet dawned upon him; that while he is attempting to discern 



174 LANGUAGE OF REASON. 

through Ihe gloom, the objects which surround him, he per- 
ceives a line of light streaking the eastern horizon, waxing 
brighter and brighter, till in a moment, that luminary, whose 
appearance now occasions no surprise, the glorious sun, rises 
in full splendor above the distant hill. N ature flinging offher 
dark mantle, is clothed in light and beauty at his coming; 
from wooded hill and verdant vale, swell the glad matins of 
creation. Suppose this, and hovv strange the sensations which 
would throng in at the eye and ear of the new resident, and 
how tumultuous the tide of emotions which would heave his 
bosom ! And do you think that he would gaze silently upon 
the scene? By no means. A loud, wild, extatic cry would 
burst from his lips, expressive of commingled delight and 
wonder and fear. And when he wandered forth over the fair 
earth, and scenes beautiful as a God could make them, rivet- 
ed his gaze, and awakened his admiration, at every step — do 
you not think that the fast-peopling world within his heart, 
would find vent? That exclamations of wonder or terror or 
delight would not escape him, as one or another of these emo- 
tions was excited? These exclamations would be his only 
language — the unwritten language of the heart ! The day 
has closed in, and the full-orb'd moon rides in majesty up the 
the lofty pathway of Heaven, and the stars gleam forth one 
by one. These objects are strange and beautiful, and simi- 
lar exclamations may express the feelings of his agitatedand 
expanding mind. Thus day succeeds night, and night fol- 
lows day, and finds man ever wondering, ever learning. 
Time passes on; and now he stands by the cataract — the 
dash of the tumbling waters falls upon his ear, is communi- 
cated to his mind, and is remembered. The thunder of Na- 
ture's artillery shakes the cloudy vault; the bird whistles 
from the bough; the bee hums from flower to flower; the 



LANGT7AGE OF REASON. 175 

serpent hisses from the grass; the stream murmurs and flows; 
these, too, are heard and remembered. What then? Man 
is a social being; his eloquent eye, his speaking countenance, 
his expressive gesture, all proclaim him such. He meets a 
companion, Nature's pupil as he is; they have admired the 
same scenes, beheld the same objects and heard the same 
sounds. All may be gloom and silence, but the mind , s eye 
still sees, and those sounds still ring in the mental ear. Mem- 
ory, true to her trust, retains them all. The waterfall, is 
suggested to him, and a sound involuntarily escapes his lips; 
it may be dash or roa?', but whatever it is, it is an imitation, 
and by the assistance of gesture, is understood by his com- 
panion; the image of the cascade glows anew upon his men- 
tal tablet, and thus mind communes with mind, and thought 
awakens thought. Soon, other objects attract his attention; 
perhaps the qualities, perhaps the movements of bodies. Is 
it agitation? sway, swing, swerve, sweep, express it. Is it 
a gentle descent? then slide, slip, sling, or other words of 
similar sound, escape his lips. Is the forest tree prostrated 
by the blast, or rived by the lightning-stroke? crash and flash 
may express them both. If it acts more dully, the more ob- 
tuse sounds crush, brush, gush, are natural imitations. The 
liquid L, flows like the objects to which it is applied. The 
guttural C, is hollow as the cave it designates, or the croak 
and the caw that it imitates. The sound st, is strong, st&ble, 
and síubborn, as the objects to which it is applied. Thus 
man continúes learning and multiplying terms, until as now, 
in the language of Blair, "the invisible sentiments of the 
mind are described by comparisons, and the most abstract 
notions are rendered intelligible; all the ideas which scienoe 
can discover, or imagination créate, are known by their pro- 
per ñames. Not only is it a médium whose employment, ne ? 



76 LANGUAGE OF REASON. 

cessity imposes upon us, but an instrument of the most refined 
luxury." Such is the present state of language, and such 
has it been for a long period of time. Great and wonderful 
though it is, yet like the starlit Heavens, and the unfathomed 
ocean, it is familiar to our minds, and excites neither aston- 
ishment ñor admiration. That such is the manner in which 
ai'tificial language had its origin, in a rude and unenlighten- 
ed age of the world, cannot be a matter of reasonable doubt. 
Too many traces of this principie of imitation are still found 
in all languages, with which we are acquainíed, though mod- 
ified by time, mingled with the accessions of all nations, the 
subtilties of philosophy, and the conventional and arbitrary 
usages of men. Whether language was at first the iniracu- 
lous gift of God to man, is a question which has been rnuch 
agitated by philologists, but their investigations have led to 
results, which, while they disprove the affirmative of this 
question, confirm decisively the truth of the. position here 
taken. The Supremo Being endowed man with the faculiy 
of language, but left him to exercise and develope it himself; 
and it is not more strange that an infant should thus acquire 
a language by imitation, than that a man should actually in- 
vent a médium of communication, which, ^,s Wachter beau- 
íifully terms it, is only an "echo of Nature." 

We have no time to indulge in idle speculation, like the 
Egyptian and Phosnician kings, relative to the original lan- 
guage, or like them, to institute any foolish experiment for 
'determining to what existing language, the honor belongs. 
Whether our first parents spoke Dutch, or Scotch, or Chero- 
kee, is of no great importance; but certairi I am, that what- 
ever it was, it was an expression of mental images, of which 
nature around them furnished the origináis, or of emotions 
which these origináis had themselves awakened. It may be 



LANGUAGE OF REASON. 177 

proper to remarle, that the Sanscrit, which was once spoken 
from the Gulf of Bengal to the Arabian Sea, and from the 
southern extremity of the country to the Himalaya Mountains, 
bears a greater resemblance than any other living language, 
to the primitive tongue; for it is a language complete in it- 
self, composed of elements peculiar] y its own, and contain- 
ing no foreign terms. Though of "one lip and of like words" 
at first, the confusión of Babel, the changes in scene, and the 
diversity of habits and pursuits, sufficiently account for the 
three thousand tongues now spoken among men. Indeed, if 
you will take arbitrary words in eommon use; for example, 
numeráis, you will discover a resemblance aniong them, 
%vhich is susceptible of solution, only in an implicit belief 
inthe scriptural account. 

Welsh. Irish. Greek. Latín. Anglo-Saxon, Dutch, 

Un. * Aen. Eis, Mia, En. Unus. An. Een. 

Danish, Icelandic, Moeso-Gothic,* Oíd High German,English. 
Een. Einn. Ain. Ein. One. 

Sanscrit, Greek, Latin, Persian, Germán, 

Upar, Uper. Super. Aboor. Ober. 

Anglo-Saxon, Danish, English. 

Ofer. Over. Over. 

The American languages also, may be reduced to a few 
great divisions, which seem to centre near Bhering's Straits 
over which, it is suppcsed, that the so-called Aborigines o: 
this continent, crossed. 

A slight examination will convince you, that these imita 
tions of nature, enter largely into the formation of all artifi 
cial language. Though arbitrary terms have swelled its 
vocabulary; though time has wrought its "perfect work' 
thereon; though faney has ornamented it and eommon con 
sent modified it, yet this, the frame-work, is distinctly seen 

* A language of ancieDt Germacy. 



178 LANGUAGE OF EEASON. 

throughout the whole structure. In the selection of words, 
and the collocation of syllables, the best poets invariably 
avail themselves of the principie of imitation. From the 
days when Virgil urged his line into a regular Canterbury 
gallop, to the latest effusion of our'own bards, much of the 
beauty of their productions may be attributed to this. Wit- 
ness Dryden in Alexander's Feast : 

"Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
And rouse himlike a rattling peal of thunder," 

or the well known passage in Gray's elegy : 

'*the beetle wheels its drony flight, 

And drowsy tinklings lull the distantfolds." 

When Milton was describing the opening of Hell's gates, 
he -saysj- "and on their hínges grate harsh thunder;" but the 
gates of Heaven — hów striking the contrast ! — "on golden 
hinges turning." I am unable to pursue this interesting sub- 
ject -farther, and I can only commend it to you as every way 
worthy of your attention. 

I remarked a short time since, that it was of little moment, 
in what language, our parents of the Garden were wont to 
converse. Indeed, (to employ an expression, which, though 
involving an absurdity, expresses my idea,) it might have 
puzzled a Germán linguist to have determined what nation 
claimed them, if we may take the dialects of their degene- 
rate posterity as tests, For example, the Greek, the Román, 
the Italian, the Dutchman and the Saxon, hear the bleating 
of a sheep, and then all, one after another, set up an echo : 
blechaomai, balare, belare, bleeten, blsetan. The'wolf pro- 
loñgs his dismal howl, and Greek, Román, Germán and 
Spaniard answer back: ololuzo, ululare, heulen, aullar. The 
matronly hen, calis her straying brood; kakkazein, saya the 



LANGUAGE OF REASON. 179 

Greek; glucken, klokken, cloccan, cluck, exclaim Germán, 
Dutchman, Saxon and Yankee, all together. 

These are only two instances of a thousand, to which I 
might cite you, were it necessary. 

In farther illustration of this principie of imitation, 
allow me to relate an incident of recent date, which 
occurred upon the borders of one of our v/estern rivers. 
When the first steamboat ploughed its waters, hitherto un- 
rippled, save by the light canoe, a tribe of Indians that en- 
camped in the vicinity, gathered upon its banks. As the 
í'iron horse" carne panting and puífing up the stream, 'they 
gazed in speechless amazement. No sound escaped them, 
but the Indian's one ejaculation, "ugh !" What thoughts 
they had, or in what speculations they indulged, I am unable 
to inform 3-ou. Perhaps they imagined it some anomalous 
sea-monster, -corresponding to the traditionaiy Mastodon of 
their native wilcls; perhaps a messenger from Maniíou; but 
on it carne, snorting and belching a mingled volume of smoke, 
steam and cinders. As it neared them, and passed, one of 
them uttered a sound, imitative of the rushing steam; the 
natives' ready ears caught it, and it rang from mouth to 
mouth, till it almost brought the fishes up, so loud the din. 
That sound became a word, and that word a ñame; and if a 
Webster should rise up among them, he would nave one more 
word to enumérate and define, than if no steamboat had ap- 
peared among them. 

Notonly is every language constantly receiving accessions 
through this ehannel, but a multiiude of tributaries are ever 
pouring their wealth of words hito it. Our own language ! 
Trace its mighty tide back to the period, ere it was dignified 
with any other ñame than English tongue; and farther yet, 
till you find it, nineteen hundred years by-gone, a detacJied 



180 LANGUAGE OF EEASON. 

dialect of the rucie tribes that roamecl over Britain. Now, 
(A. D. 79,) we see the Román eagle gleaming in triumph 
upon the queenly isle; while the conquest impoverished and 
debased the people, it enriched and ennobled the language 
vvith Román and Grecian euphony, strength and purity. Let 
a little more than three centuries elapse, and the northern 
hordes of Scots and" -Picts poured down upon them, an ava- 
lanche of war and words. To repel these unwelcome visi- 
tants, Germán y poured in hffi* Saxons, Angles (from whom 
our language derives rís ñame,), and Jutes. Successful in 
their enterprise, they playgcLthe^part that powerful protectors 
have since played, and as some small remuneration for the ser- 
vices they had so generously rendered, possessed themselves 
of the territory, which they had wrested from the invaders. 
This revolution in power, also wrought a change in language, 
of which a large proportion of our connectives,* common 
ñames, beside many verbs, are expressive witnesses. Contém- 
plate its swelling flood again, when-W^íiiam the Conquero? 
ascended the throne; when, as Mrs. Hemans has it, 

- — —"from the dim jhurch-tower, • • 

The deep, slowf curfevv'st chime! 

A heavy spdnd, unto hall and bovver, '.. ,._.:,* 

InEngíand's oldcn time !" . ' 

Knowing the assimilating influence of a common language, 
the Conqueror made the Norman-French, the language of 
court and camp; and though the sturdy ^Saxons resisted as 
they best could, such cruel innovation, yet despite their op- 
position, much of Norman refinement was blended with Sax- 
on strength. In 1453, we find the crescent-banner floating 



* Conjmnctions- 

f Fire-corering bell 3 rtmg at 8 P> M. ai which signal, the fires were 
to be extinguished. 



LANGUAGE OF EEASON 181 

from the towers of Constantinople; and the Greeks fleeing 
before the Turkish scimetar, are dispersed over Europe, 
bearing with them, what they could not leave behind them, 
their language, which undoubtedly had an influence upon our 
vernacular. 

Soon \ve find such men as Dante, Petrarch and Ariosto, 
giving character and importance to the Italian, which, being 
diíFused over Europe, necessarily produced an effect upon the 
English. In the fifteenth century, Spain occupied a conspic- 
uous place among the nations, and contributed her share 
to the wealth of our tongue. Trace it down to the 18th 
century, when a new impulse was given to the Natural Sci- 
ences; when the Astronomer discovered new worlds; the Bo- 
tanist, new plants; the Chemist, new minerals, and the Phi- 
losopher, properties of matter before unknown. Thus a mul- 
titude of terms, gathered from many tongues, enriched the 
treasures of our literature. Intercourse with foreign nations 
must not be omitted; the American Government has, at the 
present time, near two hundred ofhcers in the different courts 
of foreign countries. Such are a few of the agents which 
are ever acting to modify and enrich a language. 
"Ah ! who can hope his line should long' 
Last in a daily changing tongue ?" 

Look at the English language as it now is. So extended 
and copious, that no thought need go naked and be repressed, 
for want of a word to clothe it; no idea is necessarily confin- 
ed at home, because there is no term to express it, but cloth- 
ing for all sorts of thoughts is ready for use, large and small, 
for infancy and age. It is the language of a vast portion of 
the new world, while it is spoken in the mightiest kingdom of 
the oíd. To it, the muscular Saxon has given his gutturals, 
and the Dañe his vovvels. The Greek has contributed strength 
O 



182 LANGUAGE OF REASON. 

and expressiveness; the Italian ; melody; and the French, his 
liveliness. War has drawn many of its characteristics in 
blood; aggression has grafted new terms upon it; commerce 
brings her gleanings, scholars polish, and time modifies it. 



CHAPTER II 



Connection letween natural and artificial language — Elements 
of artificial language — Glottis or vowel sovmcís — The brain 
the organ of language — O ''Kelly 's parrot — Vocal tules — 
Marshaling the Alphabet. 

With this sketch of the progress of our language, which, 
brief as it is, has extended farther than I designed, I must 
pass to a notice of the sounds which are employed in artifi- 
cial spoken language. As we have already remarked, 
between natural and artificial language, there is no inter- 
medíate chasm, or bridgeless gulf to be o'erleaped; but the 
transition is easy, and the connection indissoluble. In the 
former class, we find expressions of fear, and exclamations 
of delight; in the latter, we find these very sounds com- 
posing its material. Indeed coughing, sneezing, shriek- 
ing and laughing, all contribute their shares to the fund of 
artificial language. The child of tender age, or the wild 
man, (if such a one there be,) each rings his changes of 
boisterous mirth upon the syllables "ha ! ha ! he ! he ! hi ! 
hi ! ho ! ho !" and these very sounds are the constituents of 
artificial, vocal language. The Interjection of the Grarn- 
mars, or as it may, with greater propriety, be termed, the 



LANGUAGE OF REASON. 183 

Exclamation, though a place is assigned to it, among human 
inventions, strictly belongs to the species which has already 
been discussed. The expression of emoúon, rather than of 
thought, if we continúe to give it a ñame and a place in arti- 
ficial language, it must be as the Krik that binds the two great 
divisions together. 

All the changes which time and the elements have wrought 
on lake, river and plain, tracing the deep-worn furrows of 
six thousand years upon the fair face of Nature — all the rev. 
olutions which have telegraphed the ages as they roll, and all 
the diíferent phases of thought, feeling and action, which ev- 
ery new generation of man has presented, all these have 
been unable to modify, multiply or improve these elements 
of artificial language. I refer to the glottis, vocal, or as 
they are commonly called, vowel sounds. Whatever of ful- 
ness, clearness, elegance, or life, belongs to the artificial 
médium, is derived directly from the natural. These ele- 
ments are actually heard in the voice of the dog, the bird, 
and the infant; in the infant, T mean, whatever may be its 
vernacular; whether it dangles from the back of an Esqui- 
maux mother, or plays upon the banks of the Ganges. These 
voice or vowel sounds, are the fluid material of all artificial 
language, which would naturally flow on, in a current of 
continuous sound, did not the skill of man, form, limit and 
distinguish it. On the other hand, the mouth-sounds or con- 
sonants compose all that is strictly artificial in spoken lan- 
guage; here the superiority of our race is clearly seen; not 
in the ear, not perhaps in the vocal organs, but something in- 
finitely nobler than mere dust, however, refined : — intellectual 
pre-emimnce. That man might produce and combine these 
sounds, giving ease and elegance to the frame-work of lan- 
guage, otherwise unyielding and awkward, without evincing 



184 LANGUAGE OF REASON. 

his high origin and noble powers, is probable; but that while 
he performs the numberless delicate movements in the act of 
articulating or jointing sounds, he should, at the same time, 
attach to each, an idea; combine them and express thoughts; 
multiply them, and trace out the most intricate processes of 
reasoning; and all this, without actual ly possessing and ex- 
ercising an intellect but little less than angelic, is not only 
improbable, but so far as we know, impossible. Artificial 
language then, implies the possession of mind, and the organ 
of the faculty of language is not the ear, but the hrain, as the 
Larynx and vocal tube are its instruments. In this light, the 
far-famed parrot of Colonel O'Kelly, that sang fifty tunes, 
distinctly articulating every word, or the dog of Zeitz, that 
talked, or rather barked Germán, are readily disposed of. 
The eurious tubes which were invented some years since, in 
Europe, which will produce certain articúlate sounds, simply 
by blowing through them, may as properly be called lan- 
guage, as the parrot or the magpie that is taught, abandoning 
its own expressive tones, to be a mere machine for the amuse- 
ment of children. 

It is frequently said, that there are no striking facts, no 
startling disclosures in language, like those which lure him 
orí, who pursues the study of Chemistry, Philosophy or As- 
tronomy. I know what view, they have taken of language, 
who entertain such sentiments; from my heart I commiserate 
such blindness. Just think of the millions that are numbered 
with the dead. Who can enumérate them? Think of the seven 
hundred and thirty-seven millions that now live, and form a 
conception, if you can, of all the thoughts and feelings, and 
emotions and passions, that have occupied and agitated each 
bosom, for thirty, fifty, nay a hundred years, and then remem- 
ber that the thirty-five sounds of which the Ens;lish lansmasíe 



LANGUAGE OF REASON. 185 

is composed, are sufficient to express them all ! Is there 
not something wonderful in this? Is it not a noble subject for 
contemplation? 

In the brief analysis of the elementary sounds, which I 
am now about to present, it is not necessary to inquire into 
the origin of written legible language; to determine whether 
it was communicated to Israel's leader by the Almighty Him- 
self, or whether it is the result of the combined wisdom, of 
ages; whether the alphabetical characters were originally 
the delineations of visible objects, as they are now the signs 
of sounds, or whether they may be traced to the hieroglyph- 
ies of Egyptian Astrologers. It is not for us to pierce the 
gloom that shrouds the past, or to disturb the gathered dust 
of ages, to discover who firsí conceived the happy thought ? ■ 
that as sounds are the material of spoken language, so char- 
acters, the representaiives of those sounds, should compose the 
elements of written language. Too long a period has elapsed 
since the decease of thatillustrious unknown, to pronounce a 
eulogy upon him; but I will at least venture to remark, that 
while their first use (and a glorious one indeed,) should have 
been to commemorate his ñame, if the discoverer of the new 
world, and the inventor of letters were to contend for the 
wreath of immortality, the wise and good throughout all time, 
with a unanimous verdict, would award ittothe latter, as the 
most important, the noblest discovery in the history of man. 
I make no apology for dwelling so long, upon the elements of 
language; we find them in the spelling book, we repeat (not 
to say learn) them, when children; we pass on, forget, and 
sometimes despise them. I would have you remember how 
wonderful is the power of these 26 characters, as the instru- 
ments of thought — how in the words of Dr. Good, "the lan- 
guage of the pen enjoys an adamantine existence, and will 



186 LANGUAGE OF REASON. 

only perish amid the ruins of theglobe — hpvv before iís mighty 
touch, time and space become annihilated — how it joins epoch 
to epoch, and pole to palé" — how, before it, the globe's broad 
zqiie dwindles to a Une, and at the word of this Joshua, time 
itself stands still! 

A perfeci alphabet should not only contain a distinct char- 
acter for every elemental sound, but it should neither be en- 
cumbered with supemunaeraries, ñor confused with inter- 
changable letíers. By this test, the alphabet of our own lan- 
guage appears defecíive in every particular. The victim of 
caprice and change, for a long period of time, its present im- 
perfeeíion is not so much a matter of wonder, as it is, that 
we do not find it more barbarously mutilated and mangled. 
Whoever has been seized with a suelden desire to be immor- 
tal, has lefí iTis inglorious memento upon thése innocent char- 
acters. Misguided learning has touched them with too eare- 
less a hand, and whatever caprice has suggested or chance 
effected, has become indurated by time, legalized by scholars 
and irrepealable by use. 

I never contémplate the grotesque assemblage, known as a 
nailon under the ñame of English Alphabet, without thinking 
of an ill-accoutred and worse disciplined company of militia, 
answering to all sorts of'fanciful and inappropriate ñames, 
■Here half a dozen candidates for the same office, and there, 
one bearing, as he best can. the glorious responsibility of two 
or three. You cali for the guítural K; K, C and Q* step 
promptly out. Order contemptuous S to the right of K; and 
X,f in its two-fold capaciíy jostles them both aside and stands 
solé repres^ntative of the pair. Z is called, and while this 
decrepit character advances, officious X^: hobblesup, answer- 

* As in king, cali, queen. f Tas or íaks. % Xerxes or Zerses. 



LANGUAGE OF REASON. 187 

ing to the same ñame. But it will noí do, and X is obliged 
to fall back upon its "reserved rights." In retaliation, Z 
calis in the aid of G, and G Z* complete the discomfiture of 
X, depriving it of a place, howeverhumble, in the brothérhood. 
ícqjw -''Corning certainly," says our hero, but ere he reaches 
the line, S hastens out 011 otie side, and K presents itself on 
tbeotber, and discomfited Cf almost doubíing (and with good 
reason,) its own ideníity makes a speedy reíreat. 

Now for the musicians, fo? such in truth, are the glottis or 
vowel sounds in language. "Vocal I !" Out comes this im- 
portaní personagé, and coquettish Y:;: heeps company. You 
cali for Y, and E§ compressing itself as much as possible, 
reports présence. ii OV : Here it is, and povtly W just be- 
hind it, in the eapaéity of two Os.j| You wish to test the 
claim of I to a place among vocals, and summon ií again; 
but alas ! no sooner is this done, than A, as heard in a-t, and 
ee, as heard in ee-1, iníimately traite, and produce its sound, 
as in mincl, macead. Ii prefers a claim, from its sound as 
heard in ill, but ee shortens itself and i-1'1 is pronounced wiih- 
ouí the aid of I. U is strenuous for the sound as heard in 
pulí, but oo shortened, readily filis its place. At this moment, 
forgotíen J, as soft G, modestly aslrs our atíention; sayingthat, 
íhough perhaps, it cannot boast as great anjtiqurty as its com- 
panions, yet the waht of age shoukl not preclude the free ex- 
ercise of justice. But lo ! D and Y come fonvard, and hand 
in hand displace unfortunate J, and adije and ítyusíice are 
age and justice still.l Again is our review prolonged by C 



* Exert or egzert. t Ceil orsell *, cave orkave. £ Criorery. 

í Youlh or eeoulh. ¡| Water or ooater ; wave or ooave. 

"iíjBy a cbse connection of the elemental sounds oí'd and y, the truth 
of this will be evident to him who is blessed with a eorrect ear ; as 
in jade, d¡/ade, 



188 LANGTTAGE OF REASON. 

and H, that complain bitterly of the hardness of their lot; C 
declares that as it has been ruthlessly deprived of a ñame 
and place by itself, it at least demands a hearing while it 
urges one more claim. Wheezing H whispers that though 
it is grievously afflicted with asthma,* yet with its compan- 
ion C, it can nevertheless fill animportant place in language. 
So by way of illustration, they stand side by side in the 
words teac/ter, leec/tes, and satc/iel, but, (O the vanity of mor- 
tal hopes !) T and Y decoy them from their place a moment, 
and treacherously step in, and who can distinguish between 
teacher and tea/?/er; between leeches and \eetyes, and is not 
saiyel, as much satchel as ever? 

Such are the scenes of confusión which an alphabeticai 
muster and review day presents. Were I to marshal these 
characters, I hardly know by what rule of order it could be 
efFecíed, but we will see. I have already stated that there 
are thirty-five elementary sounds in our language; here they 
are, exhibiting no very near relationship to the motley crew 
which we have been inspecting. 

Ringing sounds or vowels. The musicians of Language : 

Á-U, A-rt, A-n, A-\e, 

Ou-r, 7-sle, aid, Ee-\, Oo-ze, E-rr, £-rrd, I-n. 

Half- ringing sounds: 

Si-ng, It-o, M-a, N-o, R-oe. 

Explosives or Artillery of the second división : 

B-ow, D-are, G-ive. 

Half-ringing Aspirations : 

F-ile, Z-one, Ye, W-o, Th-in, A-Z-ure. 

Clangless Sounds. The mere clink of the vocal keys : 

I-f, Yes, H-e, Wh-eat, Th-in, Fu-sh. 



Difficult respiration. 



LANGUAGE OF REASON. 189 

Explosives or small arms, of the third división : 
XJ-p, Ou-t, Av-k. 

Thus I have formed these worthies as I best could, and in- 
deed, they have quite a military air. 

These thirty-fi ve elements are competent, either singly or 
in combination, to produce every sound which can be consid- 
ered English; to the-m, in the language of Harris, "vve owe 
that variety of articúlate voices, which has been sufficient to 
explain the sentiments of so innumerable a multitude, as 
all the present and all the past generations of men !" 

It now remains to speak, first, of the organs of the raouth, 
which are employed in articulation, and of the physiological 
•formation of the different sounds, of which alphabetical char- 
acters are the representativos . 



CHAPTER Iíí. 



Organs of the moutli — División hito pairs — Experiments — H — 
The vowels — Consonants or Arüculations — Vocal and Whis- 
pering letters — Welsh peculiariiy — Tahles of sounds— Con- 
clusión. 

The narrow aperture in the middle of the Larynx, com- 
municating with the mouth, is called the glottis, from a word 
in the Greek language, signifying originally tongue, and 
thence employed to desígnate the mouth-piece of a wind in- 
strumenta A convex, triangular lid, closes this opening to 
the Larynx when we swallow. This lid is called the Epig- 
lottis; viz : "upon the glottis," and may be seen at figure 4 
on page 150. 



190 LANGUAGE OF REASON. 

The mouth presents a more complex mechanism than the 
Larynx or Trachea. Here a pair of organs are alvvays uni- 
ted in producing a distinct sound. Some part of the tongue 
always constitutes the active or moving individual in every 
pair, and one or another of the diíFerent parts of the cavity, 
is the other. Now, let us divide these organs into pairs, com- 
mencing back at the opening into the throat. The root of 
the tongue on one side, and over against it, the palate, on 
whieh the glottis-cover resís, compose the first pair; the upper 
surface of the tongue, and the roof of the mouth, the second 
pair. The tip of the tongue and the upper teeth, or the part 
immediately above them, are the third couple. The lips, 
which are the folding doors of the mouth, constitute the fourth 
pair; and finally, the two side doors leading to the nostrils, 
and answering the purpose of a sound-board, compose the 
fifth pair. 

Every part of the vocal apparatus has now been examined; 
the Tiachea, the Larynx, and through its aperture, the glottis, 
we entered the mouth, and classed the organs in pairs as we 
passed along towai'ds the folding doors. The voice-machine 
is ready for operation, and we have only to cause the raw 
material; viz : air, to pass through ií, and set the various or- 
gans in moíion, and we shall immediately have the elements 
of speech. The air, in its passage from the lungs, may be 
compressed at the glottis, or in its passage through the mouth 
by the different pairs of organs, which were just now enu- 
merated. Suppose then, that we make some experiments with 
this wonderful piece of mechanism. Let us openthe mouth, 
suffer all the machinery to remain passive, and propel a cur- 
rent of air, by means of the great bellows or lungs, through 
it. There ! A breath, scarcely audible, is the result; not 
exactly a sound, but rather the pféparation for one. ínflate 



LANGUAGE OF REASON. 191 

the lungs again, and give a stronger blast. Now you have 
a hard breathing, like the rushing of the wind; a real ele- 
ment of speech. Take the syllable orse; breathe hard as 
you sound it, and you will have, not orse, but horse. Take the 
line, "Up the igh ill e eaves a uge round stone," and exhale 
the air in this manner, when pronouncing those words which 
are italicised, and you will produce a line much more intelli- 
gible and true tonature; viz : "Up the /¿igh /¿ill, he /¿éaves a 
/¿uge round stone." Here then, we have the aspírate or rough 
breathing, which is expressed in Written language by the 
character or letter H, which, by the way, would answer as 
appropriately to the ñame Jack, as to the one with which ca- 
price christened it, and under which long usage has recog- 
nized it. 

Our English relatives, across the water, treat the H very 
caprieiously; whenever it ventures to be the initial sound, it 
is unwarrantable neglected, and, but for the peculiar humor 
of its tyrants, might sink into utter insignificance. They, 
however, generally assign it a place, which it never presumes 
to occupy. For example, a lady from the top of the stairs 
calis her servant : 

Enry, erel ) ,• i ash ) is cold-take it down, i eat ) . 
Henry, here! ^ ' ( hash $ and tell the cook to ( heat ^ ' 
and bring it up again. 

Suppose that we proceed farther with our experiments, and 
contract the glottis or opening into the larynx, and then suf- 
fer the air, thus compressed, to rush out with sudden expan- 
sión, vibrating throughout the arched roof and other cavities 
of the open mouth, and you have a clear, full tone, called a 
voice-sound or vowel, the contraction of the glottis, producing 
the loud clang. 

Now open the mouth; suífer the tongue to lie motionless in 



192 LANGTJAGE OF REASON. 

the lower jaw, and the otlier organs to remaín still; contract 
the glottis, and then allow the air to rush out, and you have 
the puré vowel A, as in ah. You can change this position of 
the mo'uth in two ways, either by dilatation or contraction; 
the forrñer eonsists in widening the mouth, in which the 
cheeks wií-1 be fulí; the latter in lengthening it, when the 
cheeks will be partially drawn in, and the lips protruded; in 
either case, you will observe, that the different parts of the 
machinery are brought nearer each other. 

Let us first dilate the mouth; the teeth become visible; the 
tongue^ is curved and rises towards the roof; now contract the 
glottis, and exhale the air, and the clear, sharp sound E pas- 
ses out between the tongue and the roof of its prison. 

Dilate the mouth as much as possible; now the tongue and 
the roof of the mouth are brought so near, that a sound can 
hardly escape between them; contract the glottis and expel 
the air, and you have the thin vowel, I. 

Only one change now remains to be made; that of con- 
traction. We will do this by forming a circular orífice with 
the lips, and allowing the tongue to shrink back with its hol- 
low surface into the lower jaw, and we shall have the 
sound O. 

Contract or lengthen the mouth as much as possible, and 
the narrowed sóund U, passes out between the lips. 

The experiments which we have made in this chapter, have 
been with the glottis, and though we have brought some of 
the pairs of organs nearer one another, than the natural posi- 
tion in producing the sound A, yet we did not intercept the 
sounds, by touching the tongue and roof of the mouth, or the 
lips; so the sounds which we have discovered, are strictly 
glottis sounds, generally called vowels, from a word meaning 
voice. A, I and U are the limits of the vowel sounds, as 



LANGUAGE OF REASON. 



193 



distinguished from those made by touching the organs; for 
suppose the approximation of the organs be carried so far, 
that there is an actual contact of the organs, and thereby an 
interception of the sound, these vowels would be changed, 
I, becoming J, and U, V or F. 

Omit to contract the glottis, and instead of A, you will have 
the breathing, H. The following is a diagram, exhibiting 
the deviation of the simple voice sounds from the puré vowel 
A, as in ah, until a slight change in the position of the organs 
cause the letters at the terminations of the longer lines to 
would pass over into other sounds : 

\ 




iré vowel. Naturalpositi on 




¿T^-VorF 

Thus we have discovered in a series of experiments how 
the principal vowels are formed. It was remarked that there 
ave thirty-five elementary sounds. To the voice-sounds may 
be added the sound of O short, as heard in c-oa-t; of U, as 
in p-M-U; of Oi, as in b-oy, and of O, as in O-bject. We 
may also swell the number of mouth-sounds or consonants 
by the addition of the sounds represented by J, Q, R final, 



Note — On page 188, E-rrd should be E-nd; and in the half-rin< 
ing aspirations, Th-'m should be T/t-en. 
P * 



194 LANGUAGE OF KEASON. 

and Ch, as heard in J-ew, q-ueen, wa-r and ch-ur-ch, thus 
increasing the number to forly-three. Of the vowel elements 
it may be said, that they flow freely from the throat, modified 
indeed, but not interfúptecl by the organs of the mouth. It is 
an interesting fact, that many words are formed upon this pe- 
culiarity of vowels. Thus, Aa, ££ a river," which has been 
applied to eleven rivers in Wcstphalia, Switzerland and the 
Low Countries; the two As fiowing on in sound, like the 
streams they desígnate. The Greek, too, marking the cease- 
less flight of time said aei,* the Germán, je, and the English, 
aye. The superiority of human speech for the expression of 
thought, is especially seen in the numerous articulatíons of 
which it is composed. These articulatíons are the consonanís 
of language, and like the keys of the ilute and the fingers of 
the musician, are ever varying and limiting, or to use a fa- 
miliar, but expressive word, jointing the sound, which issues 
in full volume from the throat. 

In treating of the physiological formation of the Consonants, 
you must carefully distinguish between the ñame and the 
nature of a letter. Thus ef designates the sound which is 
made by bringing the lower lip near the upper teeth, and then 
blowing through the narrow apérture between them, as in 
f-ather. Be is the ñame of another represeníative of sound, 
but while you cannot pronounce the ñame without openingthe 
mouth, the sound is readily made within the closed lips; b-oy. 
To this confusión of terrns, may be attributed the popular 
error that the mouth-sounds cannot be produced without the 
aid of a vowel; an absurdity which has receivedthe sanction 
of time, and the embellishments of tradition. 

In classing the sounds, it will be proper to enumérate them 



Signifying always, perpetually. 



LANGUAGE OF REASON. 



195 



according as they are produced by the partial or perfect con- 
tact of the several pairs which have been specified. 

TABLE OF 
Mouth-Sounds, or Articulations generally termed Consonants: 

Pairs of Organs: \Names of sounds\ Letters. | What Sounds. 



Root of the tongue 
and the palate. 



Throat sounds 
or Gutturals. 



Upper surface of¡ Palate sounds 
the tongue ami'or palatals. 
roof of the mouth. 



K Ch Q. Cj-King choiY.qu.een, 



like k; G 
Ks Gz. 

Ch J L Y 



fipof the tongue Tongue soundsIT Th D 
and upper teeth. or Linguals. R N &Th 



The two passa-iNose sounds 
gesto thenostrils.jor Nasals. 



Tip of the tongue 
and both rows of 
teeth. 

The Lips. 



Teeth sounds 
or Dentáis. 



Lip sounds 

or Labials. 



Nk Ng N 
M 

SCZ& 
X like Z 



cat,* gold, ta#, 
e«ist. 

Chime, James, 
Law, Yes.f 

Tell, fhink, Did, 
Eod, No, Therx.t 

Thi?z£,§ thing 
mmi. 

SeÚ, Gell, Zone, 

Zanthus. 



F Ph P Gh Fan, pha.se, laügfe 
like F; V 7an, Boy, Man, 
B M,& W Water, Ooater. 
ilíkc oo | 

By a glance at the articulations, you will perceive that they 
may be divided into two elasses; the one of shadowy, whisper- 
ing sounds, modified by particular positions of the organs; the 



* Four ietters or combinations have the sound of k. Ks& gz 
express the sounds of X- 

t Ty would express ch; and dy, j. Refertothe account of Y. 

$ Th in think, ¡s the aspiration, and th in then, is thecorrespond- 
ing vocal. 

O In the nasal nk, the sound is stopped before the clear, ringing 
eour.d is produced. 



196 



LANGITAGE OF KEASON. 



other of these very sounds made vocal or loud, by the action 
of the Larynx, at the will of the speaker. For, though the 
organs may assume any required position, volition is still ne- 
cessary to the production of voice. 

A distinct view of these two classes is given in the follow- 

ing 

TABLE OF 

Whispering Letters and their corresponding Voeals : 



Ñames. 


Sounds. 




Letters. 




Soimds. 


Guttural, 


Croaking, 


> 


K 


G 




As in good. 


íí 


X, as in axe, 


"1. 


Ks 


Gz 


As in exert. 


Palatal, 


Sneezing Ch, as in 
s'dtchel. 


o- 


Ty* 


Dy 


-6 


As J in major 


Lingual, 




o 


T 


D 


5 
n 




££ 


Lisping,as in nothmg 


l Th 


Tlrf 


o 


Soft,asiníAen 


Dental, 


Hissing, 


=: 


S 


Z 


c 


Whizzing. 


a 


Hushing, 


— 


Sh 


Zh 


— 


Soft J4 


Labial, 


Puffiing, 


2. 


P 


B 


í 


Bleating. 


a 




Ciq 


F 


V 


a 




Breathing, 


As in what, whirled. 


o 


hW§ 


W 


< 


As in world. 


Nasal, 


As in clank. 


a 


Nk|| 


Ng|| 


o 

o 


Clanging. 


Aspiration, 


Panting; as in he. 


ja 


H 


Y 


r - 


As in ye. 1T 



This table presents very mueh of interest and instruction ? 
but with a few comments, I leave it for your own investiga- 
tion. The letters in the right hand column cannot be dis- 
tinguished from the corresponding aspirations, when sounded** 
in a whisper; since in this only, do they differ from them; 
viz. in possessing somewhat of vocality, or what is better 



*The soundexpressed bych,is simplyty, sa/j/el; Dy a9J, maáí/or. 

t Sometimes represented by dh. 

^ The French sound as in a-s-ure. 

{ Generally written Wh, but the aspiration actually precedes. 

|J Used only at the end of syllables. V Y is a Palatal. 

** Not the ñame, bul the element. 



LANGUAGE OF REASON. 197 

known by the appellation of loudness. For example, the 
following question, "Can you ttell z wom c or peal vrom feal 
or íeev urom peef, when whispered, and who knows whether 
I say worid or whirled (hwirled)?" differs very slightly in 
sound, from "Can you tell c from c, or feal from feal, or peef 
from peef, or whirled from whirled?" You perceive then, 
that the aspirations are the shadows, or if I may use the ex- 
pression, the ghosts, the disembodied sounds of the vocals. 
Now the sound of K is produced by closing the nasal passage* 
and pressing the root oí' the tongue against the palate. In 
this little chamber, the breath is pent up, and the sound pro- 
duced by its explosión. Again, in G, the air is closeted as 
before, and acted upon by the vocal chords, its peculiar muf- 
fled tone is heard, until the little apartment is filled, when 
bursting the obstructing tongue, it escapes through the mouth. 
T is formed Iry pressing the tongue against the gums behind 
the upper teeth, and forcing the breath between the pair, 
when the explosive aspiration, as in t-u-t, becomes ^audible. 
With the same position of the organs, but less compression 
and a vibration in the throat, you have its mate, D. Place 
the tongue as before, but allow the vocal tone to escape 
through the nose, and N is produced. Cióse the nasal doors 
again, compress the lips and attempt to blow them open, and 
at the instant you succeed, P will issue. Shut the fokling 
doors as before, but open the side-passages; give the breath 
vocality, and M makes its exit. Sepárate the lips while its 
sound continúes, and you will have the infant's syllable, m-a. 
Glose every avenue, as in preparing to sound P; víbrate the 



r This bcing almost involuntary, fevv persons can do it at will. 
It is effected by drawing the curtain of the palate over the nasal 
passage. The air which distends the eheeks can escape through 
the nose, while the mouth remains closed. 



198 LANGUAGE OF R.EASON. 

air in the Larynx, and the muffled bleat of B will be produc- 
ed. If you allow the folding doors to stand ajar; viz. per- 
mit the lower lip to rest upon the edge of the upper teeth, as 
the breath whistles through, and plays upon the lip, F will 
be heard. Add the vibration, and V will take its place, 
thrilling the lip with a peculiar sensation as it passes out. 
Bring the point of the tongue nearly in contact with the upper 
teeth, and as the breath sweeps by their smooth, firm edges, 
the sound of C and S is produced. Lessen the eompression 
and add the vocal tone, and Z whizzes past. If you protrude 
the tongue so far that its tip is between the teeth, your efforts 
to give the sibilant, will produce Th, as in think. If you 
. attempt to sound its mate, Z, Th or Dh, as in then, will be 
the result. With a liíAping perí/ion the difficulty ith, that 
hith tongue ith too eager to encape from iith prisión to tarry 
long enough behind the teeth to produce Eth. Bring the 
tongue up near the pal ate, and let its sides come in contact 
with the lateral gums. Thus you form a broad, roughchan- 
nel in the attic of the mouth; the ribs or rugee of the roof 
being the rafters, and the papillas of the tongue, the un- 
smoothed floor. Propel the breath through this long, Iow gar- 
ret, and Sh will rustí e along. Give it vocality and it becomes 
Zh or Zy, as in a-z-ure. Incline the tonguy floor so that the 
tip of the tongue touches the palate; narrow it, so that it does 
not reach the sides of the mouth, and L will flow out. Give 
vocality to the breath, and as it passes through the mouth, 
víbrate the tip of the tongue, which playing upon the volume 
of sound, produces R final, as heard in Wa-r. Play a sort of 
tattoo upon it, and you have the trilled R, as in p-r-ay. Take 
a word with the vocal initial W, as world. Blow upon it as 
you would in extinguishing a lamp, and as one would natu- 
rally suppose, the world is whirled (h world.) N, with the vo- 



LANGUAGE OF REASON. 1&9 

cal G, produces the clear, ñng'mg tone of a bell. Stop its 
vibration, and like the cracked bell, rink'mk, rinkink, is the 
only sound which is produced. 

This brief description will give you an idea of the nice 
distinction which is made between vocal and aspírate articula- 
tions. Some nations entirely disregard it; for example, the 
Welshman says, "Ifowpy STiupiter í7¿at SAenkin is a wissarí," 
making nine errors in the same number of words; viz. T for 
D; F for V; P for a B; Sh for J, twice; Th aspírate for Th 
vocal; and S for Z in three instances. 

X. Take the word tax. Now in soundmg the x, you 
will observe that there are two movements of the tongue; 
the former, when the root is brought in contact with the pal- 
ate, which produces the k; in the latter, the tip of the tongue 
is darted out like a serpent's, against the teeth, and you have 
the hissing sound s. Do you not see that x is only a com- 
pound of a guttural and a dental, and that you pronounce 
taks precisely as you would taa;? In the word example, x 
occurs again. Suppose that we supply its place with ks; 
here we have it then, eksample. Stop ! eks, eks, we do not 
sound it so in this word; there is too much wind, not sufficient 
vibration and consequent vocality. How shall we remedy it? 
The only change necessary, is to make the whispering ks 
talk loud. Let us see if we have any vocal sounds of this 
description. Yes, z is the mate of s, and g as heard in good, 
of k; suppose we substitute the mates of k and s for them : 
egzample; now we have the correct sound of x in this place. 
Not only is x a substitute for ks and gz, but when it is the 
first letter or initial of words derived from the Greek, it casts 
off the g and has the sound of z; thus Xerxes is pronounced 
Zerkses. X then, is not the representativo of any sound 
which is not indicated by other letters either singly or in com- 



200 LANGUAGE OF REASON. 

bination, and is retained rather for convenience than of ne- 
cessity. C, when a guttural, is sounded like k, and when a 
dental, like s; for example, the syllable cat is pronounced as 
¿at, and cell as sell; with íhis letter, therefore, .so far as its 
sound is coneerned, we could dispense. K seems to be highly 
privileged among its companions; sometimes it has a substi- 
tute in c, as we have already seen, and sometimes in q, which 
aceompanied by u, does many good offices for k, baving the 
same sound; thus quake or kwake, quoit or kwoit. Mr. 
Walker, depreeating such indolence, employed it to bring up 
the rear of words otherwise ending in e, as critiek, tactick, 
and thus exhibited the principal and its substitute síanding 
side by side, in the discharge of the same duty, which must 
indeecl betwice, if nolioell done. Mr. Webster, íhinking such 
an array of similar sounds unnecessary, released the k from 
this degrading position, and it; has sinee resumed its wonted 
air of superioriíy in written language. 

Y. The ñame of this letter bears as much resemblance 
to its nature, as William does ío the character of the person 
to whom it is given. Wheu analyzed, it is resolved into U I 
closely and rapidly pronounced; (u like oo.) These letters 
are also combined in its form; U or V is the upper parí, and 
I is united at the curve or angle of the lines. In i he Saxon, 
one of the constituents of our owii language, even the point 
or dot which we asually place above the small i, is retained. 

In soimding í, (a ee: a, as in father, and ee, as in eel.) the 
tongue, before the souncl ccases, is brought nearly in contact 
with the roof of the mnuth. In giving Y, as in ye, a very 
slight contact actually cccurs, and a rapid, muscular move- 
ment of the tongue, as if an effort to prevent a perfect con- 
tact or articulation, to which movement, Y owes its peculiar 
sound. But commence with the souncl of Y, as in ye, and 



LANGT7AGE OF REASON. 201 

while you prolong it, allow the tongue to come into uninter- 
rupted contact with the roof of the mouth, and it will end, 
not with Y, but J. Make the experiment carefully, and you 
will be convinced of the fact. Thus a people who once in- 
habited Jutland, are called Iutas, Ytas, Jutes. So we find 
in the Mceso-Gothic alphabet, a dialect of ancient Germany, 
Y and J indicated by the same character, G. Indeed the 
difference in the organic formation of I and J is so slight, that 
the easiest transition from voice or vowel sounds, to associa- 
ted or mouth sounds, is general ly considered to be, from I to 
J, by an actual contact of the almost touching tongue, to the 
palate; Iudea, Judea. But when we consider the sound of Y 
as intermedíate; on the one hand, as the vowel I, and on the 
other, the palatal Ye, almost J, how appropriately may it be 
considered as the link of the two great classes of Glottis and 
Mouth sounds. As a vowel, having the exact sound of I or 
Ee, it does not enrich the vowels, and might be dispensed with, 
and anciently supplied those places where we employ I or E 
only; thus : 

Modern English, Ireland, Idle, Iron, Iré, Evil, Hymn. 
Saxon, Yrland, Ydl, Yren, Yrre, Yfel, Ymen. 

In conclusión, then, Y should stand in the scale, thus : 
I I, as is i-sle, i-n — vowel Y, as in tr-y, dut-y — 
Mouth-sound Y, as in yew — -J, as in Jew. 

We have now examined all the elements of speech, but 
we have examined them separately, and can form no better 
conception, from such an investigation of their power and 
harmony, when blended together in coupled sounds, and beau- 
tifully articulated in words and sentences, than, from hear- 
ing the several notes of the scale, sounded one by one upon 
the fluíe, we could appreciate the soft melody of its tones, 
varied and modulated by the breath and fingers of the skilful 



202 LANGUAGE OF REASON. 

rnusician, into the plaintive air of "The Last Rose of Sum- 
mer," or the spirit-stirring musió of the "Marseilles Hymn." 
Distinct articulatiou is absolutely indispensable to good 
speaking. The recurrence of such syllables as vlst, tldst, 
skst, st, thst, lks, bdst, dths and rsts, iraperiously demands it. 
While it enables the speaker to enuncíate with greater ease, 
and the hearer ío listen with greater pleasure, it also compen- 
sates for weakncss of voice, and renders euphonious what 
wbulcí otherwise be harsh and dissonant. This articulation 
cannoí be acquired without eífort, long and unwearied; and I 
must be allowed to say, that were o. parí of the attention which 
young persons so w'illihgly devoto to determining the proper 
obliquity of tlieir toes, or the preciso angle at which they 
shoüíd carry their heads, or the exact curvature of a bow, 
givon to the complex and beautiful movemeñts of the toiigué 
in blending and coníbining thesé elemcnts — if this were done, 
the lips of so many persons, otherwise agreeable, would not 
open upon us a rélentless fire of sounds, linked and welded 
like ehain-shot; salute üs with a hissing utterance, that would 
throw a Frenchman into convulsions, or torture us with a 
succession of ereáking confusions, more like the filing of a 
saw, than the melody of thoughí-tinged language. 

Reader, if I have added ought to your little store of happi- 
ness; if I have opened to your visión, a field of riéw and de- 
lightful contemplation; if I have awakencd an interest in the 
subject, which will neverbe abated till life's end, í can, with 
a light heart, bid you farewell. For investígate long and 
diligently as you may, each step will only acquaint you with 
the ever-widening prospect beyond, and when Nature's living 
lines grow dim, and the tones of watching friends are hushed 
around you, and your own voice falters, you can then say, 
with him of oíd, "I am learning still !" 



COMMENDATORY N O T I C E 8. 



From a number of letters with uhich literarj gcntlemen have 
favored us, we give the follovving extraéis: 

From Rev. J. S. Maginnis, Professor of Theohgy in the Ham- 
ilion Lit. fy Theo. Inst. 

Dear Sir : — I ara gratified to state, that it vvas with much Eat- 
isfaction, I examined, in manuseript, severa] Chapters of your 
work on Language. Its slyle and method of illustration, are, I 
think, admirably adapted to interest and instruct the young, for 
whose benefit yon nave writi.cn. It eontains, also,much valuable 
inforraation which is vvortby of ihe attention of more matura 
minas. * * * * * * 

I trustyou will not hesit'ate to let it go before the public. 



'From John F. Richahdson, Professor ofilie Latín Language 
r,:d Lilerature in the Hanvilton Institufion. 
Géntlemen : — I have examined the work of Mr. B. F. Taylor, 
yvhich you are publishing, cntitied "Attiiactions of Language," 
and am happj' to add my testimony to that of othors, in its favor. 
I consider it welí adapted to fill an iingor.ta.nt and useful place in 
a eourse of Educalion foryoulh, which, I bclieve, has notyetbeen 
occupied. The Auihor lias evidently pursued a widc range of 
inv-estigation, and has collected his matej-ials with great care and 
judgment, lío has imbodicd an amount of Information in regard 
to the natuie, the suhjects, the varieties, tbe powers and uses of 
Language, which., if well understood, musí, I íhink, not only 
diveet its study of mneh, thaí, in the young student,hasheretoforc 
been pbseure, and consequemíiy dry and tediou^, but must also 
invest it with a degree of liveiy interest, which wiil render the 
entranee upo-n the study of our language much more inviting and 
promising. Tiiis certainly is a grcat desiderátum. * * * 



The subjoined letter was receivedfrom George R. Perkins, 
Principal of the Utica Acaderhy and Anthor of an Ariíh- 
me'Jc. 

I have carefully examined the first nine chapters of the "At- 
tractions of Language," which you were so kind in forwarding 
to rne. It has afforded me considerable amusemerct and much in- 
struction. It eontains many faets in Natural Science, presentedto 
the reader in a very atlraclive form. Shoulc the subsequent chap- 
ters be as interesting as those which I have read, I doubí not the 
work will be well received by the public. 



Professor Eaton of the Hamilton Institution, remarks : 
The plan of the work is original and ingerí ious; and the Author 
has executcd it in a manncr which cannot fail to interest andprofit 
the reader. Mr. Taylor seems to have deeply studied his subject, 
and expresses his matured views with great liveliness, clearnesa 
and forcé. The work ¡s designed to supply a desiderátum in the 
elementary study of Language, and make a subject proverbially 
dry and irksome to the young mind, attractive and delightful. 



In a -prívate letter, the Hon. P. Gridley, Judge of the Fifth 
Circuit of the State of New York, lorites asfollows : 

I have been delighted with the highly poetical dress in which 
the youthful Author has invested many a grave and philosophical 
principie, fie has certainly succeeded in rnaking the pursuitof it 
truly attractive, while leading the learner through the flowery 
meadows, the deep forestand the starlitsky,gathering everywhere 
in his course, arguments and illustrations in support of his theory. 

From John H. Raymojnd, Professor of Rhcloric and of the 
English Language in the Hamilton Lit. fy Theo. Inst. 

Messrs. J. & D. Atwood : — I have perused the sheets of Mr. 
Taylor's book with no little satisfaction. The subject is one pos- 
sessing great intrinsic interest, though regarded by most persons, 
strangely enough, as hopelessly dry — and }ct not strangely, con- 
sidering how it has been the fashion to treat it. Mr. T.'s melhod 
is popular and attractive. His illustrations are numerous, his 
imagery exuberant, his diction freeand buoyant, — perhaps,attimes, 
a trifle too frolicsome, — and I do not see why it should not be a 
favorite with the publie ; especially with the young, for whom the 
Author modestly professes to write. Mature minds, however, and 
those well acquainted with his subject, may read this little volume 
with profit; and will indefid be best prepared to appreciate itschief 
excellencies, bolh of matter and manner. Such, more than others, 
will be struck with the originality of the plan, and with the interest 
which a joyous and poetic spirit can throw over this región of 
abstractions. 

As a Grammarian, I could wish that more of the volume had 
been reserved for the Third Parí, which treats of language froptr; 
butthis is a fecling with which the majority of Mr. T.'s readers 
will not sympathize, being as well contented as himself to linger 
amid the beaulies and wonders of inanimate and irrational nature, 
and not knowing so well as he, how infinitely more beauliful and 
wondrous the proeesses, by which the subtile workings of human 
reason become self-revealcd to kindred intelligences. The addi- 
tional volume promised inthe preface, will, I trust, be wholly given 
to this branch of the subject. An aceurate analysis and copious 
illustrations of the Lunguage of Reason, would well complete the 
work, which Mr. T. has well bemun. Imf _ ^ui 

Hamilton, June 7, 1842, 1J 7Q O C ,$ 



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